


Soundtrack to Love

by DowagerEmpress, mollus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, Musician Steve Rogers, Musicians, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 89,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DowagerEmpress/pseuds/DowagerEmpress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollus/pseuds/mollus
Summary: Howl like a wolf while ironing on some patches! The Howling Commando’s Steve Rogers was seen with the one and only Wolf last night on what looked like a real romantic soiree. Candles and flowers and soft glances, oh my!Mind you, some anonymous sources from the restaurant itself said their conversation actually sounded a little “strained” - trouble in paradise already?_____________________________________________Punk rocker Steve and glitter pop star Bucky (aka Wolf) have been asked to write the single for the big summer blockbuster "The Winter Soldier". Problem: They hate each other. Bigger problem: the head of their record label, Tony Stark, wants to increase publicity by having the two pretend to date.With their musical careers on the line, will these two be able to set aside their differences and work together to get through this?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mollus and I are writing this fic together and I hope all of y'all are ready for the semi-ridiculous ride that we are about to take you on. 
> 
> We hope you have as much fun reading this as we have had writing this.

Steve was in the middle of writing a bridge for a new single when Peggy brought Stark in to see him, so he felt as though he could be excused for mishearing exactly what Stark was proposing. He put down the notebook and guitar, and sat up properly on the couch.

“So let me get this straight,” he said carefully. “You want me to collaborate with another musician for the new _Winter Soldier_ soundtrack?”

Tony folded his hands in his lap. “Yes, Steve. In a manner of speaking. We were thinking this could be a... unique sort of... coordinated relationship –”

“There you go again,” Steve said, cutting him off. “You said _relationship_. Not partnership, not teamwork, not connection, _relationship_. What exactly do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes at the man.

Peggy shot  one of her patented don’t-be-rude-to-the-owner-of-the-record-label glares at him from where she was leaning against the wall of his studio apartment. Unfortunately for her, Steve had been on the receiving end of them more than a few times, and they were starting to lose their effect.

“We were thinking a specific kind of collaborative relationship–“

Despite her look just seconds ago, this time Peggy cut him off. Assumedly because she could see the colour Steve’s ears were turning, which she knew by now was a fairly good indicator for Steve’s temper.

“He wants you to have a fake romance with the other artist contributing to the soundtrack,” she said blatantly, ignoring the way Tony was grumbling at her.

There was a beat of silence while Steve processed exactly what he was hearing. And then –

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Steve said flatly. “What the actual fuck.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. Behind him, Peggy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Tony, if I could have a moment with Steve?” she said.

“Sure thing.” He stood up, tugging the hem of his suit coat straighter. “I’ll be right outside.” He sauntered out of the room.

Peggy straightened up from the wall and crossed the room to the door, not looking at Steve. She gently closed it, and turned to face him.

Steve crossed his arms and stared her down, scowling at the look she directed his way.

“Steve,” she said, voice measured, “I didn’t actually think we needed to discuss not swearing at _the guy who pays our bills_.”

Steve’s scowl lessened slightly, and he looked contrite for a moment, and then it was back full force.

“Pegs, this is a fucking joke. I’m trying to be a serious musician here and get the music out, and this is the kind of shit he tries to pull? No goddamned _way_ –”  

“It’s not a joke, Steve. Actually… it’s not a terrible plan.”

Steve gaped at her.

“Ok,” she amended, “It’s not the greatest plan, but the idea has merit. And we’d be involved with the whole thing so we could control it…” she added quickly.

Steve scoffed. “Pegs, the whole thing is ridiculous! Why the hell would I even consider it?”

Peggy glared at him. “Maybe because your manager of ten years, and your friend of fifteen, is asking you to consider it?”

 

Steve deflated slightly, at that. He rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing and looking down.

“Sorry, Pegs,” he muttered.

Peggy sighed. “Steve, I _know_ how hard you’ve worked to get the band’s music out there. More than anyone, I _know_. And I know _you_ know how important this project is.”

Steve nodded, conceding that. This would be the biggest album the Howling Commandos had ever worked on.

“And you and the guys have been working _too hard_ , for _too long_ , for you not to take every advantage that’s offered to you,” she continued.

Steve grimaced again. And wasn’t that the truth. It had taken him and the Commandos twelve years of long nights, balancing two or three jobs, and just general working their asses off for them to even get to this point. They’d dragged themselves up in the music world inch by stubborn inch, slowly moving from garages and dive bars to music festivals and small arenas. They’d produced three albums  since signing on to Stark Records five years ago, gone on their first tour last year, and it felt like they were finally, _finally_ starting to make themselves known.

“I know, Peggy,” he sighed, suddenly tired. He could feel the beginnings of a stress headache coming on, and his wrists were aching again. All he’d wanted to do today was finish the bridge, and now this.

He looked up at her. “And you really think this is going to work?”

 

Peggy came and sat down next to him on the couch.

“I think it could be a huge opportunity. Stark’s craziness aside, he does have a head for these kinds of things,” she said gently.

Steve grumbled to himself, and then looked back at Peggy. “And you’ll weigh in on this? I’m not going to do any stupid shit, Pegs.”

“Cross my heart and hope to be coordinating bar mitzvahs again,” Peggy said, crossing her finger over her chest and smiling.

“OK, I guess,” Steve muttered. “What have I got to lose.”  He picked up the notebook again, ready to get back into things.

“Great!” Peggy said. “I’ll draft up some documents for you, and we can arrange a meeting with the other agent.” She bounced to her feet and grabbed her briefcase from a nearby table, heading to the door. She waved on her way out, but Steve was already reabsorbed in the song.

As he reveled in the sudden quiet, a thought occurred to Steve, before he brushed it aside.

“I wonder who the poor idiot is that’s going to be on the other end of this…” he mumbled thoughtfully. Then he shrugged and got back to work.

 

____________________________________

Excerpt from NY Times Music

Album Review by Perrick Guidou

_War Songs by The Howling Commandos Brings Tough Love_

[Today we sit down with the frontman of _The Howling Commandos_ ’ Steve Rogers to discuss the themes of anger, an agenda for social justice, and folk-punk crossovers that come screaming out in this explosive new work from this talented group of veteran artists…]


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t his fault that he missed the rhythmic rapping at the door of the apartment. Really, Shuri – if the knock pattern was anything to go by – should’ve known better than to knock when he was writing. Bucky had been working on this song for the last eighteen hours and he wasn’t going to finish until he had perfected the lyrics. All he had left was the chorus and he’d been pounding out the chords at top volume. 

  
When Shuri finally used the spare key and threw open the door, he’d jumped a foot and overturned the ficus growing in a – now shattered – pot atop his piano.

  
“Jesus, Shuri! Nearly gave me a heart attack!” he cried, clutching his hand to his chest.  
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the least, “but you weren’t answering the door, and you have a very important visitor.” She looked at him pointedly, gesturing behind her with her head.

 

It was then that Bucky noticed the sharp dressed man standing behind her. He didn’t know how he did it, but Bucky envied the way that Tony Stark managed to make a designer suit look eccentric. Maybe it was the eyebrows.

  
“Oh my God! Mr. Stark! I’m so sorry! I’ve just been working on this song for…” Bucky looked wildly around for a clock -  “Uh, a while… and I sorta tend to lose track of time. I totally forgot I had a meeting with you today.” Come to think of it, if he _had_ had a meeting, why on earth would Stark have shown up here?

  
Stark flapped his hand dismissively. “You didn’t,” he replied with a smirk. “Huh,” he mused gazing around the apartment. ”This is not what I would’ve pictured for you.”  


“Were you expecting sequin drapes and go-go boys in cages?” Bucky rolled his eyes before realizing who he was talking to. 

  
Shuri’s eyes looked like they were about to bug out of her head. He could practically hear the admonishing ‘ _DUDE_!’ she would’ve no doubt laid him with had Stark not been there.

  
Lucky for Bucky, Stark just laughed. “Maybe not go-go boys, but I had envisioned something a bit more ‘Versace glitter-bondage’. Not this ‘modern grandma-chic’ thing you’ve got going on here. And are those sweatpants from Walmart?”

  
“I can’t wear sequin booty shorts all the time,” he muttered grumpily.  


“Can’t you?” Stark replied amused.   
  


“Perhaps,” Shuri cut in, “we could get to the matter at hand. Mr. Stark, I’m sure you have other important meetings today. And we wouldn’t want to keep Bucky here from finishing what I’m sure will be another chart topping hit for Wolf.” She came to stand behind Bucky, placing her hands on his shoulders.

  
“Is there something the matter? Is it my contract?!” Bucky inquired anxiously, eyes darting furiously between Shuri and Mr. Stark. He’d only signed with Stark Records eleven months ago and he was still on his yearlong probationary period. 

  
His debut album had skyrocketed to number one on the charts, and you couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing one of his songs, but Bucky still had the nagging worry that the other shoe was going to drop one of these days. Stark Records would decide that they didn’t need a glitter pop artist flouncing about drawing constant criticism from loudmouth bigots, then he’d be back to performing in clubs and uploading his music to YouTube, just hoping for another big break. 

  
“No, nothing of the sort!” Stark replied blithely. “You. Are gonna love this, Wolfy.” He emphasized the point with finger guns.

  
“You know you can just call me Bucky.”

  
“No can do, kiddo,” he shot back with a wink. “Too tough on the old noggin. Best if I just refer to you as Wolf. You don’t hear Gaga’s record label calling her Stefani. But feel free to call me Tony.” He clapped both of them on the shoulder. “OK, so…” he said whipping around, beginning to frantically pace back and forth across the apartment’s spacious living room. “Hmm, where to begin…?”

  
“What Mr. Sta – Tony,” Shuri corrected when he glared at her, “is trying to say, is that Stark Records has successfully obtained the contract to record and distribute the soundtrack for the upcoming summer blockbuster _Winter Soldier: Maelstrom_. And…” Shuri continued before either Stark or Bucky could interrupt, “as such, he’s offering you the chance to collaborate on the original song for the movie… andparticipateinafakerelationshipwithyourcollaboratorforpublicitypurposes,” she added in a rush, words slurring together so that they were almost incomprehensible.   
  


Almost.   
  


“Wait  _ what _ !?” Bucky exclaimed, vaulting up from the piano bench, sending his sheet music fluttering to the floor to rest atop the remains of the ficus. “You want me to  _ what  _ with  _ who _ ?”   
  


“We would like you to write what I’m sure will be a stellar Oscar and Grammy worthy song, for the big summer blockbuster  _ Winter Soldier: Maelstrom, _ with another one of Stark Records’ artists. And once the song is written, we would like you to pretend to be in a relationship with said other artist.” He spoke slowly as if explaining it to a child, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world rather than what Bucky thought was the most bat-shit crazy idea he’d ever heard.   
  


Bucky gaped openly at him.   
  


“Before you say anything,” Shuri jumped in, “know that we would have full input in the situation. You wouldn’t be made to do anything you are uncomfortable with. A few dates and public appearances, some light PDA –“   
  


“Hand holding; a peck on the cheek,” Stark added helpfully.   
  


Shuri shot Tony a look that could only be interpreted as ‘not helping, bro’. “We’d negotiate the contract with the other artist’s manager, that way everyone’s happy. You don’t have to make a final decision today. Just… think about it.” 

 

Closing his mouth, Bucky turned and raised an eyebrow at Shuri.

 

“You really think this is a good idea?” he asked. Stark pointedly pretended not to be listening.   
  


“I really do,” she replied, picking up the sheet music and placing it on the piano. “It wouldn’t be for forever, and the opportunity is too huge to pass up.”    
  


Bucky took a deep breath, and then sighed.

 

“Alright, Mr. Stark,” he called to the man, who appeared to be fascinatedly examining one of Wolf’s performance looks displayed on a mannequin in the corner of the room. “I’ll do it.”   
  


“Excellent! Shuri, draft up your client’s conditions and demands and email them to Ms. Lewis in Legal.” He headed for the door, Shuri close behind. He pulled out his phone with a, “Siri, dial Peggy” and swanned out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind them.   
  


Bucky stared at the door,  wondering what he’d just gotten himself into. “I really hope I don’t live to regret this,” he sighed. Spinning around on the piano stool, he rested his hands heavily on the keys, a cacophony of notes filling the air. He took a few breaths and returned to figuring out his chorus. He needed to clear his head. As the chords of the familiar tune filled the apartment and his mind turned once again to finding the perfect line, the knot of worry in his stomach began to unravel.    
  


Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

 

  
_________________________________________________________________________

  
Excerpt from  _ RED ROOM _ blog

  
Artist Profile of ‘Wolf’

  
_ Wolf Leading the Pack in Glam Rock/Glitter Pop Revival _

_   
_ [Emerging into the mainstream music scene only eleven months ago, Wolf has made a name for himself in the American music firmament. The young performer has grown by leaps and bounds since  _ Red Room _ first took notice of him years ago. Since signing with Stark Records, he’s dived into genre crossover which, combined with his signature spectacle style of performance and lyrics that highlight the second wave feminist idea of ‘the personal is political’, found profound resonance with music lovers and earned…]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point we should probably clarify one major thing. We don't really know much about the how movie soundtracks get made or the ins and outs of the music industry, so there's a lot of, how shall we say, liberties taken in this story.
> 
> Oh and the chapters will alternate, odd number chapters are Steve's POV (written by mollus), and even number chapters are Bucky's POV (written by DowagerEmpress)
> 
> Also, don't worry, Bucky repots the ficus and it's fine.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

“... And that’s the general plan of attack. Steve? Steve, are you listening to me?” Peggy snapped her fingers irritably in front of Steve’s face.

 

Steve snapped back from a very nice daydream that involved a hot bath, a beer, and a door with several locks on it. 

 

He blinked at Peggy. “Yeah, Pegs, I was listening. Plan of attack, sailing forth into new ventures brought on by the most ridiculous plan in existence, etc, etc.”

 

Peggy glowered at him and inhaled sharply, when the elevator door in front of them dinged open, revealing a crowded car.

 

_ Saved by the bell _ , Steve thought as he pushed towards the back, not-so-accidentally letting one of his bonier elbows ‘encourage’ a large businessman on his phone to move over. The businessman looked Steve up and down. He took in the orange and red spikes of his hair and his undercut, his ripped jean jacket covered in pins and buttons, and the studded motorcycle boots, as if Steve were something sticky he’d stepped in. 

 

He raised an eyebrow. Steve sneered back. Peggy rolled her eyes, and pushed to stand between them. 

 

(Steve didn’t miss when she flipped open her work binder, smacking the man in the chest.)

 

They made it to the reception of the office, and Stark’s impressively composed and organized PA ushered them down a hallway towards his office.

 

At the door, Peggy fixed Steve with another look. 

 

Steve sighed deeply, and pulled himself up so that he was standing straight, fixing his jacket. He raised an eyebrow at Peggy. 

 

She smiled pointedly back at him. 

 

Steve clenched his teeth, his grin spreading as wide as he could manage, shooting his eyebrows up into a parody of a smile.

 

Peggy sighed deeply, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She suddenly looked years older, and all the fight flowed right out of Steve.

He sighed, and organized his face into something more than his usual scowl, and less than his stage face. One might have even called it friendly. Then he gestured towards the door to reception. 

 

Peggy gave him a relieved smile and gathered herself up. Her bag and binder tucked firmly under one arm, she strode quickly towards the door, heels tapping and curls bouncing. 

 

_ Well _ , Steve thought gratefully,  _ at least as long as Peggy’s around, things can’t be too bad _ . 

 

Then he followed her inside, and the two people already sitting at Stark’s desk swiveled to look at them. 

 

Or at least, Steve was pretty sure there was two of them. He didn’t really notice, given that all his attention was immediately on the one in the right chair. 

 

The one with the elaborate braids cascading down one shoulder, wearing an iridescent blue leather jacket that perfectly matched his eye makeup. They were surrounded in dramatic liner and shadows creating a masque effect, and from his ear a single peacock feather trailed down his neck. 

 

Steve screeched to a halt.

 

_ One Year Previous _

 

_ Steve was trying really, really hard not to throw up, or fall over, or both.  _

 

_ Flipping the guitar pick over his fingers in the bathroom, he desperately went over the setlist again and again.  _

 

_ “Red Star, Throw the Motorcycle, Don’t Look At Them Like That…” he muttered. He went to run a hand through his hair, and then stopped, remembering the stylist’s fierce admonishments to “Absolutely DO NOT TOUCH IT, I MEAN IT ROGERS”.  _

 

_ Distractedly, he tried to stretch his back and winced hard, as it twinged painfully. That stupid chair they’d had him in for hair and makeup had no fucking back support, and now he was paying for it. And they still had their full set to do. _

 

_ God, he loved performing, but he did not want to be here. Not with all the people acting like The Grammys was the most important night of the year, when it was really just a bunch of celebrities congratulating themselves and freaking out over their hair and makeup. He’d watched a famous country singer actually go to slap a makeup artist, only to stop when a photographer had wandered past them. Then it had been all smiles and sunshine, of course. Steve had personally chauffeured Dum Dum into her chair next.  _

 

_ Give Steve a dirty, sweaty mob at a good punk festival any day.  _

 

_ Sighing deeply, and trying to shake the ache out of his back and wrists, Steve walked out the bathroom door to the backstage, and swung around the corner of the hallway with his head down. _

 

_ And promptly bounced off someone’s chest, and then the wall.  _

 

_ Steve looked up, feeling slightly dazed and rattled, blinking hard. Everything seemed kind of blurry, except Steve knew he was wearing his contacts.  _

 

_ Then he realized the blurriness was coming from the person’s outfit.  _

 

_ Man, that was a lot of glitter on one person.  _

 

_ He was pretty sure if he tilted his head the right way he could even see it glinting in the person’s eyelashes.  _

 

_ Belatedly, Steve realized that the person was talking to him.  _

 

_ “... and so, yeah, really didn’t see you. Are you ok?” _

 

_ Steve couldn’t really place the voice with any certainty, but he thought it might be one of the newer artists around. White Dog, maybe? If his brain wasn’t so scrambled from the nerves, his back, and his wrists, he thought maybe he could remember.  _

 

_ He blinked at the guy, and then spotted a clock over the guy’s shoulder. He had five minutes until he had to be on stage- Peggy must be ready to kill him.  _

 

_ “...Yup,” He muttered, dodging around the guy and flinging himself in the direction of the stage. Thankfully Peggy wasn’t on too much of a warpath, the rest of the Commandos already being in place and ready to go. Steve grabbed his first guitar, shook himself loose again, and moved to his mark.  _

 

_ The curtains flew up, the smoke machine blew dramatically across the audience, and the screams exploded as Steve slammed the first chord of War Songs.  _

 

_ They killed it. And won three of the four categories for which they’d been nominated. _

 

_ Steve was still riding high the next day, still hearing the screams in his head and their heavy bass booming across the stage. He’d been furiously writing lyrics to at least three new songs when there’d been a knock on his apartment door.  _

 

_ He’d opened it to find all of the Commandos - Jim, Jacques, Gabe, Dum Dum, Monty, everybody - nervously looking at him. They’d pushed him to his wobbly kitchen table, and handed him Gabe’s cell phone.  _

 

_ Steve had looked critically at the blue banner.  _

 

_ “You know I don’t read Twitter, guys -” he’d started, when Gabe had looked at him, and pointed wordlessly down.  _

 

_ Steve picked up the cell phone, and read the featured tweet.  _

 

_ “Bumped into @thehowlingcommandos Steve Rogers last night.” His eyebrows climbed. “Man of few words but I guess he lets his power chords speak for him.” _

  
  


_ Steve’s lip curled. He put the phone down, carefully, on the table. He looked up at his bandmates. They looked back, a tad nervously.  _

 

_ “I,” Steve said, deliberately, “have work to do.” He glared at the phone. “Whatever the fuck that asshole thinks of me.” _

 

_ The Present _

 

Steve looked Wolf up and down, and straightened his back to ram-rod perfection. 

 

“Absolutely,” he said firmly, “The fuck not.”

 

___________________________________

 

Excerpt from American Songwriter

 

Interview by S. Ditko

 

_ Steve Rogers Is Not Your Bro _

 

[Steve Rogers meets me in a small cafe in north Brooklyn. It is not, in fact, my idea. I had suggested we meet in a new cafe in Manhattan, somewhere nearby Stark Records, assuming he would be close by. I ran into him before the interview as it turned out we were both on the same subway line, and he was coming from his place in Brooklyn. When we saw the line to the cafe, we both grimaced at the same time- which was how we ended up in Steve’s favourite place. The walls are covered in old music posters and he has a favourite chair in the back. Once we have our drinks - not a “venti” in sight - Steve leans his elbows onto his knees and begins like this:

 

ROGERS: Listen, the thing is, I’m not your “bro”. I’m never going to be your “bro”. But The Howling Commandos are going to give you something a lot better than your “bro” can…] 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we get to see the Grammy's from Bucky's perspective... plus we get to finally see these two interact for the first time.
> 
> Also Happy Pride Month y'all! It'll be very obvious come Chapter 16 that it was written during Pride.
> 
> We hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. We appreciate all kudos and comments.
> 
> xoxo Us


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Bucky asked looking at Shuri in the mirror. “It’s too much,” he answered himself before she could respond, grabbing a makeup wipe.

 

Shuri rose from her place on the bed, crossed to him, and plucked the wipe out of his hand. “Would you calm down? You’re giving me an ulcer just watching you.” She grabbed his shoulders and swung him around forcing him to look her in the eyes. “I know you’re nervous, but this is just a meeting. We haven’t committed to anything. And no,” she added wiping off a bit of eyeshadow from his cheek, “you look exactly how Wolf is supposed to. Now smile for the ‘Gram.”

 

Bucky struck a dramatic, sensual pose against the mirror, breaking out of it only once he’d heard the click of his phone as Shuri took the photo. Truth be told he was happy with how his techno-peacock look turned out, even if the green-beaded romper did chafe like a bitch. He sent a thought of thanks to his drag mother who’d taught him that trick with Vaseline.

 

“Ok dude, enough primping and posing. Let’s go.” She dragged out the final word for several seconds, beckoning at him imperiously.

 

Bucky stuffed his feet into the combat boots that matched his jacket and followed her out the door. He was always a little self-conscious at first when he stepped out like this. That was, until the Wolf persona kicked in. It had taken him years to build that persona. The one that felt free to express himself however he pleased, and let the jeers, slurs, and insults roll off like water from a duck’s back. Bucky doubted he’d ever shake the scared closeted kid he’d been completely, but that side of him that wanted to be invisible, to blend into the crowd, didn’t have a stranglehold on him anymore.

 

“You got my email last night?” Bucky asked as he climbed into the car that would take him and Shuri to Stark Records.

 

“Yes, and I faxed the updated list of ‘honey do’ and ‘honey ew’ to Darcy in Legal,” Shuri replied with a wink.

 

“We are not calling them that,” he groaned.

 

“Maybe you aren’t,” she said smugly, pulling out her phone.

 

The ride through Brooklyn to Midtown took forever. Bucky would have much preferred to take the subway, but he understood the impracticality of doing so when he was Wolf. It was half the reason he’d created and kept up Wolf in the first place.

 

As Bucky he was no one. He could wander around Brooklyn in a t-shirt and jeans to his heart’s content and never be recognized once. As Wolf however, he was a presence. He couldn’t take two steps without someone screaming his name. More importantly, he was a symbol. He wanted to be the kind of star he wished he could’ve seen when he was a kid. The kind queer kids like him needed to see.

 

Despite Shuri’s complaints about his primping, they were still the first to arrive to their meeting with the other artist. Stark was still keeping mum about who they were. A blushing and stammering intern came in to give Shuri and him a glass of water, and Bucky made sure to thank her. One thing he was determined to let nobody say about him was that he was a diva.

 

Bucky heard the rapid-fire click-clack of heels approaching followed by the door opening. In tandem, he and Shuri swiveled around to see who Bucky would be making googly eyes at for the next few months.

 

_ ONE YEAR EARLIER _

 

_ Bucky needed to sit down. Needed water. Needed not to be here, that’s what the hell he needed. _

 

_ But Wolf did. Wolf needed to perform his set at the Grammy’s. Wolf needed to be more than a one album wonder. Wolf needed some fucking water. _

 

_ Christ, a theatre full of performers and he couldn’t find a bottle of water anywhere. He’d been wandering around the backstage for the last twenty minutes. He didn’t want to stop anyone to ask. They all looked as though the hounds of Hell were at their heels as they ran around like spooked chickens. _

 

_ He was set to perform after The Howling Commandos. He’d seen their set getting put together upstairs, nowhere near as elaborate as his would be, but they also had a completely different style. He moved through the hallway towards the bathroom; he’d just take a few gulps out of the tap. _

 

_ Not for the first time that night, he cursed his outfit. His red carpet look had been fine. A sleeveless shredded duster, bedazzled in all the colours of the rainbow and a smart glittery jumpsuit underneath made by his favourite indie fashion label Wyrd. It had been comfy and stylish if he did say so himself. This monstrosity however was a cumbersome pain in the ass. _

 

_ For his performance of Carnation, Wanda, bless her heart, had really taken his concept literally. The whole thing was a stunning jacket gown; a confection of glittery peridot petals fanning out from just beneath his shoulders giving off the impression that Bucky was clothed in the flower for which his song was named. The gown would be removed as he spun dramatically beneath a shower of green carnations while he transitioned into See Myself and a more revealing silver and red glitter bodysuit, but right now, the jacket was making maneuvering to the bathroom difficult. _

 

_ As he rounded the corner he barrelled into something small and bony. If he hadn’t had so much experience in platform shoes, he probably would have wiped out. _

 

_ “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking and well…” he gestured to his outfit. “This thing makes it kinda hard to get around. Are you okay?” he added when he noticed how out of it the guy seemed. Bucky froze when he realized who he was talking to. Steve Rogers of The Howling Commandos was the one he’d crashed into. “Yeah, I mean you get it right? Not that you wear anything like this but, lemme tell you it’s cumbersome,” he was rambling and he needed to shut up. “…and so, yeah, really didn’t see you. Are you okay?” Bucky asked once again. _

 

_ “…Yup” he grunted, and then took off running in the direction of the stage. _

 

_ “Nice meeting you,” Bucky called after him, but he was already gone. He thought it was a bit rude, but The Howling Commandos were just about to go on. Bucky understood what ‘show mode’ was like. He fired off a quick tweet about it. Hopefully Steve Rogers would actually want to meet or hang out. He’d look for him at an after party. It would be nice having another real musician in the industry to talk to. _

 

_ Bucky made his way into the bathroom. He turned on the water and let it run until it had warmed up a bit. He’d spent a good portion of the day warming up his voice and he wasn’t about to ruin that now by shocking his vocal chords with cold water. The door burst open behind him and Bucky nearly hit the ceiling. _

 

_ “There you are!” Shuri crowed, sounding relieved. _

 

_ “Yes, here I am. I was just getting some water.” _

 

_ “In the bathroom? You could’ve just asked someone for some.” Shuri shook her head in exasperation. _

 

_ “I didn’t know who to ask,” Bucky shrugged. “And anyway, I found some, so no worries.” _

 

_ “Anybody! You’re talent. You could’ve asked anybody for water.” Shuri looked as if she wanted to hit him. “Now c’mon. We’ve got to get you pre-set in that giant flower before the Commandos finish. Get a move on.” She ushered him frantically out of the bathroom and up to the giant green carnation that he would bloom out of at the top of his number. _

 

_ He stood there shaking. This was his first Grammy’s performance. His first large scale televised performance period. When he told this story after, he would swear he’d been on the verge of passing out, but then the host announced his name and he felt himself slip into Wolf. All his nerves fell away. Everyone in that audience was there for him suddenly, and he had something he needed them to know. _

 

_ The performance went amazingly well. He got a standing ovation and even more extraordinarily, he’d been awarded Best Breakout Artist and Song of the Year, for See Myself. It was one of the best nights of Bucky’s life. _

 

_ He never did find Steve Rogers at the after party. He’d tried to speak to him after he’d gotten off stage, apologize again, but apparently he’d left immediately after The Commandos had finished. Bucky was annoyed at that. He understood the interaction before, but not staying to support your fellow artists? Steve Rogers, talented musician or not, was an asshole. _

 

Present

 

Bucky’s eyes locked with those of Steve Rogers. He hadn’t changed from the year before. Still a scrawny punk, still the ‘over it’ attitude that came off him in waves.

 

“Oh hell no,” Bucky spat out at the same time as Steve said “Absolutely the fuck not.”

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Excerpt from OUT Magazine

 

Interview by J. Kirby

 

_ Glitter and Be Gay _

 

[We catch up today with Wolf, on the set of his music video for his new single “FEM”, and delve into his past: coming up through the New York club scene, the inspiration and reason behind his outrageous, larger-than-life stage presence, and what it means to him to be an out and proud LGBT star.

…

Wolf: Yeah, it’s glitter and camp, that’s what makes people look, but they stay for the music. I’m all about the music. I’m never going to be one of those singers who’s content to sit back and let someone else write his music. No one else has my voice. Not the singing one. There are a million singers who, vocally, could do what I do. But none of them are me. None of them are gonna say what I say. What I feel needs to be said…]

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it was just a big misunderstanding... But do you think these two are going to have the sense to just talk it out and clear the air here?
> 
> Ok, so I was trying to stick to a designated schedule for posting (every Sunday), but that's gone out the window. The idea was to give us enough time to actually finish the fic before we caught up to ourselves, but we've been sitting with it for well over a year now and I (DowagerEmpress) am no longer patient enough to keep from sharing it.
> 
> Also, I absolutely love coming up with the completely ridiculous outfits that Bucky wears, so be prepared for some more interesting fashion moments from him.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

Barreling out a side door, Steve dug around furiously in his pocket. He finally found a single cigarette in one of the hidden pockets of his jean jacket, and stuffed in firmly in his mouth. 

 

Of all the obnoxious, glittery,  _ entitled _ , _ fake-ass  _ people on the scene out there, it had to be that jerk. Steve could and would do many, many things for his band, but this was so far off the list it may as well be circling Pluto.  

 

He thought back to the glimpse he’d gotten of Wolf before he’d turned on his heel and stormed out. 

 

“What even  _ is  _ this guy?” Steve grumbled, dragging his lighter out of the cuff of his jacket. 

 

Just as he was raising the lighter to his face, the side door flew open with a  _ crash _ . Steve whirled to find Peggy Elizabeth Carter looking at him with the wrath of God in her eyes.

 

_ Steven. Grant. Rogers.  _ I cannot even - are you  _ SMOKING?”  _ Peggy’s voice had rocketed up by an octave by the time she was finished. 

 

He’d heard that degree of anger in her voice exactly two times in his life. Once had landed him with a bloody nose. The other time had led to a new line in their contracts, and a man literally never working in show business again. 

 

Gulping, he raised his hands placatingly, and mumbled around the cigarette. 

 

“Pegs -” 

 

She held out one imperious finger. He, wisely, snapped his mouth shut.

 

She marched forward and yanked the cigarette out of his mouth, and then took a hard drag. Exhaling, she took it from her mouth, threw it to the ground, and crushed it to oblivion.

 

She looked at Steve and held out her hand. He dropped the lighter into it. She turned away from him, clutching her forehead in an all too familiar gesture. 

 

The alleyway was silent for a moment as Steve watched her warily. 

 

She sighed, and her shoulders drooped down. She turned around to face him again. 

 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets but he didn’t turn away.

 

“Steve,” she said quietly, “Why?”

 

“Because -” he started, and then cursed. “Because this is the  _ worst _ , Peggy. The absolute worst thing I have had to do for this band, and I would have done it. I would have signed all over that dotted line, but then it had to be  _ that guy _ .” 

 

Peggy’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

 

“Remember that asshole I crashed into at the Grammy’s last year? The one that I barely said a word to, who went and shit all over me on Twitter? So instead of being asked about, say,  _ our music _ , for two months, I got asked about being in a supposed _ feud _ ?”

 

Steve pointed silently up towards the offices, and then dropped his arms with a huff.

 

“ _ That’s _ the guy.  It could have been literally  _ anyone _ but him, Pegs. I just can’t.”

 

“And so you chose to express this, not by calmly saying as such, but by storming out of the building and doing expressly the opposite of what your respiratory therapist advised you to do.” Peggy raised an eyebrow.

 

“Sorry, Pegs,” he mumbled to the ground.

 

“Listen,” she said, “I get that none of this is comfortable for you. I get that this would never be something you’d choose for yourself. But… have you considered this from another angle?”

 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, raising his head.

 

She looked steadily back at him. “You know those critics that drive you  _ so _ crazy? The ones that say you have no appeal as a person. That you couldn’t handle fame and exposure  _ even if you got it _ . That the Howling Commandos don’t have a future. Wouldn’t it be great to prove them wrong?”

 

“Huh,” Steve said, considering. His chin came up. “Yes. Yes it would.”

 

“ _ And _ ,” she continued, “Did Jacques tell you what we found in the comments of your  _ Punk Magazine  _ article?”

 

“No?”

 

“People saying they didn’t even think you’re bisexual. In fact, one guy said that “wasn’t even a thing” and that you should stop lying.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows went up, his shoulders went back, and his fists clenched. 

 

Peggy smiled, and pulled open the door to the building. 

 

_ Fuck it, _ Steve thought, marching in.

 

Wolf better be ready.

 

The Howling Commando was coming for him. 

 

 

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

Excerpt from the comments on  _ punkmagazine.com _

 

Article:  _ Burning Bridges: The Howling Commandos’ album ‘Red, White, and F**k You’ Takes No Prisoners _

 

By J. Simon

 

JustANiceGuy: Listen, all I’m saying is it doesn’t make any sense. 

 

WanderingWildly: What doesn’t exactly?

 

JustANiceGuy: This guy? The one covered in blood in half of his concerts? Just doesn’t strike me as the type, is all.

 

TunaFlavor: What the hell do his performances have to do with his sexuality. Also, there’s no such thing as types.

 

TheBonnieM: Yeah man, c’mon. If you don’t like his stuff, just say so. But don’t cover it up with some homophobic bullshit.

 

JustANiceGuy: Whatever. I bet he’s just saying it for attention. Everybody knows you can’t like both sides, you’re either one or the other.

 

TunaFlavor: And I’m just saying you can go fuck yourself! 

 

WanderingWildly: Same!

 

TheBonnieM: Saaaaame. 

 

JustANiceGuy: Whatever.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter! And one that actually follows the imaginary schedule.
> 
> But likely I'll blow that and upload the next chapter later today or tomorrow...
> 
> Also, mollus and I really appreciate the comments and kudos y'all have left (they're really kicking us in the motivation to get this thing finished by the end of the summer)


	6. Chapter 6

“Well that was unexpected,” Tony hummed, staring at the rapidly retreating back of Steve Roger’s manager.

Shuri however, was focused on Bucky. “What do you mean: no?” she asked, disapproval rolling off her in waves.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He glared back, meeting her eye. “I’m not doing it. Not if it’s with him.”

“Now Wolf,” Stark began, turning towards. “I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding and if we all just sit down and ta—”

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I just can’t do it.” Bucky cut him off. Smiling apologetically at both Tony and Shuri, he got up and walked out of the room.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going. Bucky hadn’t had any intention of actually leaving; he’d just needed some space. Everything had happened so quickly. The deal had come together in the blink of an eye, and Bucky had already been leery about the whole thing, but when the door opened and he’d seen Steve Rogers standing there it had been too much. He’d gotten too hot and the room had gotten too close. He needed to move when that started to happen. Which is how he found himself doing laps of the floor.

Rogers’ reaction hadn’t surprised him. The guy had been nothing but a rude, condescending jerk since the Grammys incident. It seemed like every interview he’d done since, he was being told some terrible thing that Steve had said about him.

It wasn’t like Bucky wasn’t used to it. He’d been called a freak, fag, fairy, weirdo—every slur in the book—since he was eight years old. The names didn’t bother him anymore. 

Much. 

The people calling him those things hadn’t gone away, in fact they had gotten worse since his rise to fame, but the support had also increased. Bucky surrounded himself with people who loved him and propped him up. People who encourage him and never laughed at his crazy ideas.

But Steve Rogers? He guessed it hurt worse because he’d admired and respected him. Sure The Howling Commandos didn’t do the glitter camp thing that Bucky did, but they were both performance artists; they were both musicians. Bucky had tracked the Commandos career from their beginning. He’d been so impressed by the musical artistry that Steve had brought to what was otherwise a fairly simplistic genre of music. Bucky had thought that if anyone in the music industry would get what he did it would’ve been him. 

But no.

Steve had degraded and demeaned what he did at every opportunity. He still remembered being blindsided on The View when Joy Behar had asked him about being called an “entitled, fake-ass flake”.

His head was spinning again. He stopped moving, clutching the nearest windowsill with a white-knuckle grip. Bucky was sure he was going to be sick, scanning the immediate vicinity for a garbage can or recycling bin.

Suddenly he felt a firm, grounding coolness against his neck. He instantly felt better, his muscles relaxing as he sank fully to the floor. He turned to look up and found Shuri standing beside him pressing a water bottle to the back of his neck.

“I can’t do it Shuri,” Bucky whispered, staring at the bland office carpeting.

Shuri didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she sat down against the wall and pulled Bucky to her side. They sat there for a while, Shuri holding the bottle against his neck. 

Bucky shivered, and Shuri took the bottle away. 

“Drink,” she said, opening the bottle and handing it to him.

The cool water going down his throat did make Bucky feel better. He hadn’t realized how dry his mouth had gotten.

“You don’t have to. I won’t make you, and neither will Tony. Hell, I’ll even fight for you to be given the song solo.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Bucky replied with a wry smile. The water and Shuri’s presence had gone a long way to improving his mental state.

“Well, let’s look at the facts. One: this is a huge opportunity. If you go through with the plan as is, it’s a guaranteed thing. I don’t need to tell you how huge having the single for the summer blockbuster is. Not to mention, collaborating with more established artists like The Howling Commandos increases the audience you reach... as well as your musical reputation.

Two: You’d finally be able to put this feud behind you. Both in the media and personally. Look.” She held up a finger to silence the protest he’d been about to make. “You don’t have to like him at the end of this, but what could it hurt to talk it out, get to know him and maybe be able to be mutually indifferent?”

“Okay. And?” Bucky prodded.

“And what?” Shuri asked coyly.

“You always save strongest argument for the end Shuri.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “So let’s hear it. What are you going to say to make me change my mind?”

Shuri turned to look him straight on, all humour gone from her face. 

“Think about what this would mean to your fans. They know you’re out and proud, and while that’s wonderful…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Think how you would’ve felt as a kid, seeing two successful men in a relationship. Even knowing that that’s an option. Better yet, seeing it  _ celebrated _ .”

“It would’ve saved me a lot of self-loathing and confusion,” Bucky admitted.

“ _ I  _ know what  _ Bucky Barnes _ does for LGBTQ kids…but maybe it’s time  _ Wolf  _ started doing something.”

“Why do you always have to be right?” Bucky groaned.

“Because that’s my job.” Shuri beamed up at him. “Now c’mon,” she added, standing up and offering Bucky a hand. “I have no doubt that Peggy has managed to convince Steve to agree to this, so let’s get back there and get these contracts signed.”

Bucky got to his feet and let out a resigned breath. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this,” he chanted.

“Of course you can.”

“How did I end up with a manager who feels like a best friend and a little sister all at the same time?” he asked.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Shuri quipped with her trademark wit. “Oh and if it helps,” she said entering the boardroom with a wink at Bucky, “just think of it like this: Bucky isn’t dating Steve…Wolf is.”

“That— that helps, actually,” Bucky said, smiling privately.

They sat back in their chairs and not a minute later The Howling Commandos’ manager, Peggy he remembered, walked back in with a sullen Steve all but sulking behind her.

“Ah Steve, you’ve decided to rejoin us. Nice work Peggy,” Tony said, beaming at the room. “Now, I’ve had legal draw up some contracts which should satisfy all parties involved. I’ll hit the ‘highlights’ as it were, the rest is all just technical legal ‘party of the first part’ gobbledygook.”

Bucky was looking at Tony, but he made sure to catalogue Steve’s reactions out of the corner of his eye. He was making no effort to disguise the hostility that rolled off of him in waves.

“The basic terms go as follows: you two agree to participate in a fake romantic relationship for the duration of a minimum of eight months, during which time you’ll also be collaborating on the single for the  _ Winter Soldier  _ movie.” Tony looked between both Steve and Bucky to make sure they were following. Steve stuck his chin up defiantly, but grunted affirmatively. Bucky bobbed his head. “During these eight months, you two, henceforth referred to as ‘the lovebirds’, will go on dates, at least once a week. If either or both have to attend a red carpet or industry event, the other attends as their date. These do not count towards the weekly date quota.”

“But I’m going on tour in the fall,” Bucky interrupted.

“And the Commandos are doing two weeks with Warped Tour in June,” Steve added, glaring at Tony.

“Yes, and these have been accounted for in the contracts, per your managers’ requests,” Tony explained as if talking to children. “Now where was I? Ah, yes. The lovebirds will go on weekly dates. At the end of the eight month period, the contract will terminate and both parties are free to go their separate ways. If the lovebirds choose to terminate the relationship, the contract stipulates that the breakup must, publicly, appear amicable.”

Steve barked out a harsh laugh. “What do you mean  _ if _ ?”

“I mean that I certainly won’t stand in your way and demand a breakup if you two happen to hit it off,” Tony replied smugly.

“Like hell,” both Bucky and Steve said at the same time. They scowled at each other.

“Moving on.” Tony looked pointedly around the room. “The contract does stipulate behaviour and what  _ is _ and what  _ is not _ permitted. As the two parties who are involved are grown-ass men, these are subject to change per their own personal discussions. But for the time being, the permitted public displays of affection are hand holding--strictly palm to palm per Mr. Rogers request--hugging, fully clothed bodily contact i.e. cuddling.” Steve, Bucky, and Tony all visibly scrunched their noses at the word. “Kissing is not permitted, per Wolf’s request…”

Bucky saw Steve raise a questioning eyebrow at him across the table. Bucky held his gaze and the eyebrow lowered.

“…but he has conceded to cheek pecks, provided that there is advanced warning,” Tony continued. “We also expect that the two of you will share ‘private’ moments of your relationship on your social media accounts. Steve, that means you’ll need to actually  _ be  _ on your social media. You do know how to work a phone, right?”

“Oh,  _ ha ha _ ,” Steve droned.

“We do ask that you don’t begin these posts in an… overt fashion until we’ve announced the news about you two doing the single. After that it’ll obviously have to go public. The entertainment journalists will be foaming at the mouth to get the first interview with the music industry’s  _ hottest  _ new power couple, ‘Howling Wolf’.”

Both Bucky and Steve retched at the portmanteau. 

“That’s why I’m a music CEO and not a writer. We’ll leave the clever couple name to the journalists,” Tony said, a bit defensively in Bucky’s opinion. “Any questions gentlemen?”

Neither Steve nor Bucky said anything.

“Alright. Here you go,” he said passing them each a pen.

Steve signed first. He flexed his fingers and rotated his wrists, taking his time to fully stretch out his hands before finally uncapping the pen. Bucky ground his teeth.

“By all means, take your time Rogers.”

 When Steve was done he practically threw the contract across the table towards Bucky. Bucky signed his looping signature underneath Steve’s jagged one, and handed both the pen and contract back to Tony.

“Congratulations gentlemen. I now pronounce you dating!” From his pocket, Tony grabbed a handful of confetti and threw it in the air.

 

 

______________________________________________________________________________

Excerpt from Comments on @OfficialWolf Instagram account

**OfficialWolf**   Working on something special for my Pack today! Wish I could tell you what it is, but waiting is half the fun ;p How are we feeling about this Techno-Peacock outfit? Personally I think @ScarletWitch and @Quicksilver really nailed this one. You guys should check them out @WyrdFashion And remember Cubs, the lone wolf finds their Pack eventually AWOOOO

**MOmo** YASSS QWEEN! WERK! Is it another album? Are you adding to your tour? Please come to Canada!

**ThanosDestroyerofWorlds** Fucking fag. Hope me and some buddies meet you in the street

**Tomicorn** AWOOO AWOOO AWOOO. Howl loud enough to drown out the haters

**FireEyEs** AWOOO 

**HarvestGoddessEm** AWOOO

**NotYourAverageMrTumnis** AWOOO 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I didn't lie. As promised a second update today.
> 
> I always enjoy rereading these chapters and doing a final proofread before posting them. They're like a time capsule of what was going on in my life the week I wrote them. For example: Tony's use of the word 'gobbledygook'. My editing instructor used to say it all the time and as a result it found its way into the story. 
> 
> Next chapter is the lovebirds' first date. On a scale of 'taking a test you didn't study for' to 'trying dental surgery for the first time while blackout drunk' how well do you think it's going to go?


	7. Chapter 7

Steve could hear his teeth creaking, he was clenching them so hard. Across the table from him, he was pretty sure Wolf didn’t even notice -- too engrossed in his phone. Remembering his last dentist appointment, in which a mouth guard had been threatened, he willed himself to relax. 

 

God knew his migraine didn’t need any help today.

 

“You know, I  _ hate _ to bring this up, but I think this is meant to be a date. Something where we actually look at each other?” he asked sarcastically. It came out a little more on the side of petulant than he intended, and he winced internally.

 

Wolf raised his head from his phone and rolled his eyes. 

 

“Well,  _ darling _ , I was just updating Shuri on the fact that we both made it to the restaurant.” Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Some of us even on  _ time _ .”

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed in return. The subway had been full, and he’d had to stand the entire time. His back was not thanking him for it, and it had taken him longer to get to the restaurant.

 

“Oh, I just wanted to make an entrance.” Steve replied. “Just trying to follow your lead,  _ lovebug _ . ”

 

The wait staff took that moment to arrive, in the form of a dapper looking gentleman in an honest-to-god tuxedo. Steve quickly attempted to school his features into something approaching neutrality. He glanced across the table as the waiter distributed the menus.

 

Wolf was smiling sunnily, his cheeks glowing. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

 

The waiter was describing the feature menu items, but Steve was distracted. How did people even  _ switch emotions  _ like that? 

 

He’d be impressed, except now it made him wonder how many of Wolf’s reactions were even close to genuine.

 

The waiter had finished describing the available wines, and started to turn away.

 

“Ah!” he said suddenly, and turned around again. “I almost forgot.” 

 

He pulled out a small book of matches and lit a candle in the delicate iron lantern centered on their table. The smell of roses floated gently up.The waiter snapped his fingers, and the lights directly over their table dimmed. “My apologies, monsieurs.” Bowing, the waiter turned and glided away.

 

Steve resisted the urge massage his temples. Roses? Really? 

 

Sneaking a peek across the table, he saw Wolf’s smile had faded dramatically, and he had a peculiar expression on his face -- sort of distant, and pinched. 

 

Their eyes met for a moment, and Steve yanked the menu up, grateful for the temporary cover.

 

He scanned the menu for something with less than ten syllables -- and hopefully in English-- without much luck. There weren’t even prices listed next to the different options, which made his stomach sink automatically. 

 

He shook himself. The record label was covering the dinner. It was fine. Even if it made him remember how often he’d skipped a meal growing up; his mom’s insurance had only covered half his medications and didn’t leave enough for food sometimes. 

 

He wondered what would happen if he asked the kitchen for a burger and a beer. He’d probably get kicked out by the tuxedo guy. 

 

Wouldn’t that make a good headline. Steve smothered a grin. 

 

The waiter returned in a few moments, asking for their orders. Steve requested the signature lamb, and Wolf asked for a complicated-sounding fish dish. Steve noted he had an impressive French accent when he wanted one. 

 

It probably came from going to fancy college. Or, Steve assumed it did anyway; the rich kids he knew growing up knew French.

 

The waiter turned to him. 

 

“Wine, sir?”

 

Oh, God. Steve hated wine. God knew he certainly couldn’t pick a good one from the bunch. He stared at the wine menu in front of him, trying to interpret the different names and what their origins meant.

 

Wolf cleared his throat and Steve’s head snapped up.

 

“I was thinking of the 2015 Chablis Premier Cru, for the table,” Wolf said smoothly. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

 

“An excellent choice, sir. It has beautiful floral notes.” With that, the waiter swept away.

 

Steve realized he should probably thank Wolf, but found himself fumbling for words, as per usual. 

 

God, this was why he wrote songs and didn’t talk to people. Everything came out so smooth and clear on sheet music. In person, he was forever missing the moment, coming across harsh and short. In his music, he had time to process what he was thinking and find the right words to get it across. 

 

By the time he had decided on just a “thanks”, the waiter was back with their drinks, and Steve was out of time. The waiter also brought a bowl of fresh flowers, and tucked them in next to the candles.

 

Steve sighed internally. He snagged his glass of wine, and took an experimental sip.

 

Well. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting, even if he did still want that beer.

 

“So…” Wolf started, from across the table. Steve glanced up from his glass. Wolf was toying with the stem of the wine glass, but raising an eyebrow at Steve. “Anything you’d like to chat about?”

 

“I was informed we should ‘talk about ourselves’,” Steve replied stiffly.

 

“Really?” The eyebrow rose higher. “Because you look so inclined to do so.”

 

“Only because you’re making it  _ so easy _ ,” Steve snapped.

 

They glared down at the table in silence for a moment.

 

“Fine,” Steve said. “Tell me about yourself then. Want to start with your actual name, maybe?”

 

“Not particularly,” Wolf replied. 

 

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Steve said. “Really feel like I’m getting to know you. I’ll just stick with pet names I guess,  _ sweet pea _ ?”

 

“Guess you will,  _ sugar lump _ .” Wolf snarked back.

 

The waiter chose that moment to arrive, bearing their steaming plates. He set them down with a flourish, and then snapped his fingers again. A woman, dressed in black, appeared out of nowhere carrying a violin. She flourished elegantly with her bow, and began to play Brahms. The waiter disappeared with a bow.

 

Steve’s migraine throbbed behind his eyes, and he looked down at the table and away from the lights, wincing. He  scrubbed at his face with his hands.

 

“Oh I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Wolf asked. He stabbed at his fish.

 

Steve’s temper flared. Could he just get a break for one moment? “Of  _ fucking course not _ ,” he growled. “I am hanging on your every word.”

 

At that exact moment, someone suddenly appeared beside Steve. Expecting (and internally wincing in preparation of) the waiter, his head swiveled up.

 

He had about 10 seconds to register it was someone who had been eating nearby, and the shape in their hands.

 

Then the flash of their camera phone hit Steve’s eyes like a brick to the head.

 

“Stellar! Thanks for the selfie guys-” which was about as much as Steve heard, because he was already up and away from the table.

 

Once he finished puking his guts up, he leaned back and sighed, looking around. At least he’d made it to the bathroom this time. It even looked like he was still in the restaurant.

 

Steve pulled out his phone.

 

_ How long is in the contract, again? _

 

**_We agreed to a minimum hour for each date, and a minimum of an hour and 45 minutes for anything that could be described as “particularly romantic” in subsection 14 of section 28. Why? What’s going on?_ ** Peggy returned.

 

Steve emerged from the toilet stall and slowly came up to the mirror. 

 

He really, really did not want to continue this. His head was still giving out blinding throbs every few seconds or so, and his knees were now aching from where they’d been pressed against the floor.

 

But... Peggy’s face, after he said he’d do it.When she was describing, later that evening, what opportunities this could bring them in the future.

 

They’d met up a few days ago to prepare for tonight. Steve had been digging through his closet, trying to find something that would be appropriate for a fancy evening.

 

“Not another ripped vest Steve, I mean it,” Peggy had said from her position on the couch. “How many of those does one man need anyway?” She was lying back, her feet propped up on the coffee table in Steve’s tiny living room, a glass of Steve’s good scotch in her hand.

 

“What’s wrong with my vests? This one’s got some nice bits?” Steve shook the wrinkles out of the offending garment. This one was his favourite, it had his showiest buttons and red stripes on the shoulders.

 

“They don’t exactly scream ‘romantic and elegant dinner’,” Peggy said dryly. 

 

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I guess not.” He sadly tucked the vest back in his drawer.

 

“Just wear your nice black button up with that blue leather jacket. It’ll bring out your eyes. And wear your new jeans. They make you look like you have an arse.” Peggy grinned at him.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Peg. That really makes the whole thing feel so much less ridiculous.” He plopped down next to her on the couch. “And I have a great ass, I’ll have you know.”

 

“I know,” Peggy said. “And I  _ know _ it’s ridiculous. But… I’m excited, Steve. This means big things ahead.”

 

Steve snorted, but looked back at her. Her gaze was distant, somewhere in the future.

 

“Really, Steve,” she’d said, lacing her hands behind her head. “I’m serious. This is a big help up. I can’t wait to see where this could get us.”

 

She couldn’t wait. And Steve couldn’t let her down. Not so quickly.

 

_ It’s fine _ , he texted.  _ Don’t worry _ .

 

Steve splashed water on his face and washed away the taste of the vomit. He pulled the edges of his jacket back into place, and took a deep breath. He exhaled, feeling the pinch across his temples, and tried to let it drain out with the air.

 

Turning, he made his way back into the seating area and to his table.

 

He sat down carefully into his seat, mindful of his back. Wolf was sitting back in his chair, doing something on his phone.

 

“You were saying?” he said tiredly. “I was listening.”

 

“Clearly.” Wolf rolled his eyes. “I have a proposal.”

 

That tone was all snark. It was like that, then.

 

“I am all ears,” Steve replied, copying Wolf’s sarcastic tone.

 

“We eat this meal in silence, and get this stupid charade over with. Sound good?” Wolf said, grinning tightly at Steve.

 

“Sounds  _ perfect _ to me,” Steve replied, trying to match Wolf’s painful looking grin.

 

Wolf took a vicious bite of fish.

 

Steve took another gulp of wine, wincing, and waited for everything to be over.

 

______________________________________________

 

Excerpt from  [ www.perezhilton.com/2018-10-21/howlingwolf ](http://www.perezhilton.com/2018-10-21/howlingwolf)

 

Blog Post: Candle-lit Amour Blossoms Between a Wolf and a Commando?

 

Howl like a wolf while ironing on some patches! The Howling Commando’s Steve Rogers was seen with the one and only Wolf last night on what looked like a  _ real romantic soiree _ . Candles and flowers and soft glances, oh my!

 

Mind you, some anonymous sources from the restaurant itself said their conversation actually sounded a little “strained” - trouble in paradise already? Guess we’ll have to wait and see - check back with us next week for your next “Howling Wolf” update!

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew... that was tense. Is there any hope of these two not hating each other? Do you think people are gonna buy this romance? Do you think there's a limit on the amount of vests one man can or should own? Will Steve ever find out Wolf's name? Tune in next time to find out.
> 
> Another update. I just wanted to post, but I'll lie and use Canada Day as a flimsy pretence for the reason. That's right, we're Canadian. So happy colonialism day y'all.


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m telling you Shuri, it was awful,” Bucky said, his phone pressed against his ear as he fumbled his keys out of his pocket. The grocery bags he was carrying were digging into his palm and complicating the situation. “I don’t know -- oof -- how this is going to work.”

“It’s going to have to work Bucky,” came the sharp reply from Shuri. He was taken aback. Shuri didn’t usually take such a stern tone with him. “You’re going to have to make it work. You’re going to have to try.”

“I  _ was _ trying Shu—”

“No, Bucky. You weren’t.” She cut him off. “I saw the pictures. You weren’t trying.  _ Either  _ of you. I expected it of Steve, but I expected better from you. I  _ expect  _ better of you. Anyone with half a brain could’ve told that you’d rather have been anywhere else.”

“Aha, yes!” Bucky exclaimed, as he finally managed to get his front door open. He beelined for the kitchen, relieved to finally put the bags down.

“James Buchanan Barnes! Are you even listening to me?” Shuri cried into the phone.

Bucky winced at the use of his full name. “Yes, I’m listening Shuri. I just don’t know what you expect of me. The guy is a total asshole. A fan came up to the table asking for a picture and he basically ran away. She looked crushed.”

“I don’t care if he poured hot soup in your lap. You’re lucky  _ I _ don’t pour hot soup in your lap.” She sounded pretty angry now. “You want this song to happen, you need this relationship to work out. It’s eight months of your life, so suck it up for that long. After that I promise I’ll build you your very own Steve Rogers effigy to burn if that’s what you want.”

Bucky laughed at that. Knowing Shuri, she would actually do it too. “Okay, I’ll try harder, ” Bucky finally conceded. “But I expect that effigy at the end of all this.”

All he got in response was an annoyed huff and what he was certain was Shuri mumbling “white people” angrily.

“Is that all you called for Shuri?” Bucky asked, putting the phone on speaker so that he could start putting away his things.

“No.” Shuri’s voice filled the kitchen. “I also called to remind you that you have your final fitting for the Met Ball with Wanda later today, that Trevor Project event on Friday which you’ll need a suit for—”

“I’ll check with Wanda, see if she has anything I can borrow on short notice.”

“Good thinking. With this whole ‘Howling Wolf’ thing I had completely forgotten to arrange anything.”

“It’s fine Shuri,” he said, reassuring her. He could hear the guilt in her voice. “You’ve had a lot to deal with recently. Besides, Wanda almost always has something laying around… that, or she takes these moments as opportunities to experiment wildly ‘cause she knows she’s my only option.”

“You know any fashion label would happily dress you Bucky,” Shuri reminded him.

“Yeah, but they’re all so dreadfully boring.” Bucky scrunched up his face even though he knew Shuri couldn’t see it. “Wolf can’t just show up in a black suit.”

“You’re really lucky you met those twins,” Shuri commented. 

“Lucky I needed money to pay for Julliard, and lucky F.I.T. pays their models,” Bucky laughed. “Fuck!”

“What?’ Shuri asked, alarmed at the abrupt shift.

“I just remembered that godforsaken contract. I have to bring Steve to this event don’t I?”

“Lucky for you,” Shuri replied, “Steve has a prior commitment. You’re flying solo Friday.”

Bucky let out a relieved sigh. “If that’s all, I’ll see you later at the fitting.”

“There’s one more thing. Mr. Stark wants to see you and Steve tomorrow. He expects you both there by 9 a.m.”

Bucky heaved a sigh. This couldn’t be good. “Did he say why he wanted to see us?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. Laid out his whole day for me. Then he asked my opinion on what bath towels would look best in his powder room,” Shuri deadpanned. “Of course he didn’t. He’s Tony Stark. Getting a straight answer out of him is like trying to herd cats.”

Bucky’s stomach sank, but he smiled at Shuri’s obvious frustration with Mr. Stark. “I’ll be there Shuri, don’t worry. See you this afternoon.”

“You’d better be. I’ll show up and drag you by the ear if I have to. See you later Bucky. Oh and I’d put that ice cream away before it melts.”

“Shit!” Bucky exclaimed, grabbing the rapidly thawing carton of mint chip and putting it in the freezer. All he heard from Shuri was cackling before the line went dead. How she did that, Bucky would never know. He’d accuse her of planting cameras in his apartment if it wasn’t for the fact that she seemed to be able to do it no matter where he was.

He quickly finished putting away the rest of his groceries and made himself a sandwich. He didn’t have anything pressing to do until his fitting with Wanda. It was rare these days that he had much time to himself. After his workout this morning he’d been at loose ends without anything to do, so he’d decided he’d pick up his own groceries and cancel this month’s delivery.

He sat on his sofa with his sandwich and just looked around his apartment, taking a rare moment to appreciate that this was his life now. He had his own place, instead of being crammed in a shoebox with four other guys. He wasn’t worried if he’d be able to afford rent that month; wasn’t worried where his next meal was coming from. Last night had been delicious—even if the company had been less than desirable—though Bucky still balked at the price. Mr. Stark had been footing the bill, but Bucky could’ve fed himself for a month for just the price of that one bottle of wine.

He finished up his sandwich and scooped himself a bowl of his refrozen ice cream. Bucky tapped the spoon against his bottom lip as he considered what to do next. The piano stood in the corner. He could sit down and try to whip out a new song, or at least get started on one, but the urge wasn’t there. 

While he finished up his ice cream, he went through his twitter feed, responding to and retweeting some fans. He wasn’t surprised to see that there was already some ‘Howling Wolf’ fanart circulating. There was one of him as an actual wolf snuggled up with a grumpy-looking, tattooed chihuahua wearing a spiked collar and ‘Steve’ nametag. Bucky took a screenshot and sent it to Shuri.

He tidied up his lunch and grabbed his shoes and jacket—a pair of red converse and a plain black biker jacket. It wasn’t often Bucky got to just roam the streets of the city or take the subway anymore, and he wanted to draw the least amount of attention as possible. He threw on a beanie as an extra measure. 

Bucky walked out onto the street, shoulders hunched against the wind. Despite it being late spring, the wind still had a bite. He made his way towards the subway at a careless stroll. He fumbled with his MetroCard at the turnstile and had to awkwardly make his way over to the station agent when he realized the card had expired. The agent was decidedly unhelpful, informing Bucky that the station was currently all out of replacement cards and that he’d have to go to a different station to get a new card.

This was just great. He could always go home and call a car to take him to his appointment, but he’d been looking forward to being out and about as Bucky. Slumping down on a bench, Bucky hung his head, dejected and defeated.

He was shaken from his daze when a teenage girl approached him. The girl shoved a single ride subway ticket and a crumpled note into his hand before quietly howling and running up the stairs to street level.

Bucky stared down at his hand. Slowly, he got to his feet and made his way to the train. When the train was in motion, the steady chug and squeal of the car echoing in his ears, he opened the crumpled note. It was short and clearly hastily written, but as Bucky read the words, tears filled his eyes.

_ Your music means the world to me. It finally gave me the courage to come out. I found my pack because of you. Hope this helps you today.  –Julienne @PirateQween _

He unzipped the interior pocket of his jacket and stuffed the note inside for safe keeping. He made a memo in his phone to look up her twitter and make sure she was sent VIP tickets for his next show in New York.

Bucky was still a little misty half an hour later, as he hauled open the door to House of Wyrd. He walked through the showroom, looking at all the ready-to-wear that Pietro had whipped up for their summer collection. He kept their lights on with his unique but commercial designs, letting Wanda’s creativity run wild on the runway.

“Are you finding everything to your satisfaction, sir?” a voice with a posh British accent inquired from behind.

Bucky turned around to see a tall blonde man peering down at him. The man was handsome, dressed in a bright green suit—clearly one of Pietro’s designs if the capelet on the jacket was anything to go by.

“Viz!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing out his arms in delight and pulling him into a hug. Jarvis—or Viz as everyone called him—was Wanda’s husband, and the business side of the House of Wyrd.

“Bucky,” Viz responded, patting him awkwardly on the back. “Aren’t you a little early for your fitting?”

“Yeah, well…I didn’t have a lot to do today, so I thought maybe I’d come by early and catch up with Wanda—if she’s available that is,” Bucky added sheepishly. “I don’t want to distract her if she’s in the middle of something.”

Viz smiled at him. “Lucky for you she’s in the middle of one of her creative slumps. All you’d be interrupting is her boring a hole into the floor with her eyes.” He led Bucky towards the back, lifting the curtain that separated the shop from the twin’s workshop. “Be careful she—”

“Has a bit of a temper when she’s like this?” Bucky interrupted. “I know Viz. I used to model for her, remember?”

“How could I forget,” Viz replied dryly. “You and... how did she put it exactly? Ah yes, ‘the most superb thighs and ass to grace the continental US’”

“Don’t worry Viz. I’ll duck if I have to.”

That proved to be necessary ten seconds later when Bucky rounded the corner and nearly had a pin cushion collide with his face.

“Having problems dear?”

“Bucky!” Wanda exclaimed, throwing herself across the room and wrapping around his side like a koala. “You’re early?”

“I didn’t have anything to do today before the fitting and I missed my favourite Sokovian,” Bucky laughed into her hair. “Don’t tell Pietro I said that. Thought we could catch up if you weren’t too busy. I also had a favour to ask…”

Wanda disentangled herself from Bucky and eyed him critically. “What do you want?”

“I have a red carpet event on Friday and—”

“You need a suit,” Wanda finished for him.

“Please?” Bucky gave her his most winning smile.

“We’ll see what we can do.” She smiled wryly and patted him on the cheek.

“You’re a lifesaver Wanda.” He pulled her in for another hug and deposited a kiss on the top of her head.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Like when did you and Steve Rogers became a thing?” she asked, raising one critical eyebrow.

Bucky’s mood instantly soured. “Ugh, please don’t make me talk about  _ that _ .”

The other eyebrow joined the first.

“Fine. But you’re sworn to absolute secrecy. Like blood oath, pact with Satan secrecy.”

Wanda hummed suspiciously and eyed him. “Should I be concerned Bucky?”

“Only for my sanity and blood pressure.” He waved off the obvious concern. “Are you sure you want to know? You really can tell no one.”

“Just tell me Bucky. And don’t worry, I won’t even tell Viz or Pietro.”

Wanda did well to only call Bucky an idiot three times. It could have been more, but Bucky didn’t speak Sokovian so he’d never really know. She’d started pacing and muttering in her mother tongue when he’d got to the part about last night.

“Tell me again why you agreed to this?” she finally responded, leaning against her workbench.

“I told you—” Bucky began.

“Yes, the single and the visibility,” Wanda interrupted. “All very good reasons I suppose.” She waved her hand dismissively, turning around and jotting something down in a sketchbook that was lying open on the table. 

Bucky stood frowning at her back. Several moments passed in silence as her pencil continued to move across the paper.

“Bucky,” she finally said turning around. “Can I offer you some unsolicited advice?”

“Is ‘no’ an option?” he asked sulkily. Wanda smirked at him. “Yeah, I thought not. Okay, get on with it.”

“No one is going to buy it,” she said bluntly. “Look at this picture. You two both look like you’d rather be anywhere else but at that table—and not in a good way.”

Bucky looked at the photo Wanda had pulled up on her phone. She was right. The expression on his face looked as though Steve really  _ had  _ poured hot soup in his lap. Steve... well Bucky was pretty sure Steve’s face always looked that unpleasant.

“Look, fans who just want to see the two of you happy?” Wanda continued. “They’ll buy it for a day. Kids who are desperately looking for public role models? They’ll buy it for a week.” She took back her phone and fixed him with her most deliberate stare, the one that made Bucky think she could see inside his mind to what made him tick. “If  you want this to work, you’re either going to have to become a better actor, or find something you actually like about him.”

“Back to Julliard it is then.”

“I’m serious Bucky. I worked with him once before. He didn’t seem so bad. Maybe a bit… crusty, but not a monster.”

“Trust me, Wanda. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. He’s a dick to fans and fellow performers. Doesn’t treat anyone with any respect. And the way he looks at me… it’s the same way my dad used to look at me. Like I’m some sort of joke,” Bucky finished quietly, sniffling. It had been a while since he’d thought of his father. He didn’t like to talk about him, or even remember he existed. As far as Bucky was concerned Becca and Winnifred Barnes were his only blood family.

“Bucky…” Wanda began.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, falsely bright. “So, suit?”

Wanda just rolled her eyes at the obvious deflection. “You’re lucky we’re friends. Throwing this at me on top of the final fittings for your Met look?” she huffed. “Alright, let’s see what we can find.” With that, she turned and marched back towards ‘The Vault’.

“I liked what Viz is wearing,” Bucky tossed out.

“You’ll take what I give you and like it!” Wanda called, not turning around.

___________________________

At ten to nine the following morning Bucky was sitting in one of Stark Records small board rooms, sipping his pumpkin-spice latte, and glaring at the clock. Fifteen minutes passed and Steve was still nowhere to be seen.

Bucky huffed to himself. It figured that Steve would be late. It wasn’t like Steve had any respect for others or their time. He angrily bit into one of the muffins from a basket that a nervous looking intern had brought in a few minutes ago. 

He’d blushed when Bucky thanked him and asked him his name. He’d blushed deeper and told him it was Wes. Bucky had tried to talk to Wes but he’d been too flustered, and he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He hesitated before leaving. Bucky watched him as he gathered his courage and stammered his way through asking Bucky for a selfie. 

Bucky ended up needing to apologize to him when Wes’ long hair managed to get snagged on Bucky’s chainmail A-shirt. After disentangling themselves, Wes muttered something about making photocopies for Maria and hurried out of the room.

Bucky was about to dig into another muffin when Steve finally stomped through the door. He threw himself down in the chair opposite Bucky—the furthest he could possibly be in the small room—and angrily swiped a muffin for himself. 

“Look who deigns to grace us with his presence,” Bucky drawled.

Steve glared sullenly at the table top as he tore chunks off the muffin and popped them into his mouth.

“Good morning gentlemen. Glad you could both make it in ,” Tony said as he swanned into the room.

“Not like we had much choice,” Steve muttered.

“What was that Mr. Rogers?” Tony said.

“Nothing,” he replied and turned his glare towards the pigeons on the window ledge outside.

“Listen boys, I’m going to cut right to the chase.” Tony dropped all former pretense of gaiety. “I saw the pictures of you two last night. You call that love? You call that romance? There’s more affection between Kanye and Taylor than the two of you.” He was pacing the room, frowning at Bucky and Steve. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder if people are going to believe this relationship is real.”

Bucky frowned and sipped his latte. Steve popped another chunk of muffin in his mouth. No one was making eye contact despite Tony’s best efforts.

“Well?” Tony asked.

“Well what?” Steve asked.

“What are you two going to do about it?”

“Mr. Stark, with all due respect,” Bucky said, “what do you expect us to do about it? We’re trying our best.”

“Please,” Tony all but sneered. “That,” he said, pulling up the picture from last night on a tablet, “is not trying.If looks could kill, you’d have both died.”

He wasn’t kidding. The picture showed both of them sitting at the table, their bodies angled as far away from each other as possible. Steve could be seen eyeing door with a scowl, while Bucky’s shoulders were practically around his ears.

“I’m not an idiot, and neither is the public,” Tony continued. “It’s clear you two can’t stand each other. You won’t even look at one another. If you continue acting like bratty children, sniping at each other, you can consider the whole thing off. We can find some other artist to write the song for the  _ Winter Soldier  _ movie.”

“ _ No _ ,” both Steve and Bucky said at once. Bucky, startled, found himself meeting Steve’s eyes. He quickly snapped his gaze back to Tony.

“Then I suggest the two of you work things out.”

“How exactly do you expect us to do that? Couples’ counseling?” Bucky mumbled lowly.

“Not quite,” Tony smiled. Bucky’s stomach dropped. “The two of you are going to stay in this room until you can get along. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Bucky stared dumbfounded at Tony Stark as he walked out of the board room, locking the door behind him. “He can’t be serious!”

“You haven’t been with Stark Records that long clearly.” Steve rolled his eyes. “If he says we’re in here until we get along, we’re in here until we get along.”

“Alright, so let’s start getting along!” Bucky huffed in frustration.

Steve didn’t respond. He stared out the window at the Manhattan skyline, his jaw working in annoyance. For twenty minutes the two of them sat in silence. Neither of them wanted to be the one to give in.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Steve finally grunted.

“We can agree on that, at least,” Bucky said.

“Does he really think trapping us together is going to make us spontaneously like each other? This is a fucking joke.”

“We don’t have to like each other. We just have to look like we do,” Bucky reminded him.

“Yeah, everyone knows how much looks matter to you,” Steve drawled, scanning Bucky up and down, taking in the chainmail, leather overalls, and smokey eye.

Bucky ignored the barb. He was used to comments like that. He’d been getting them his whole life. They fell back into hostile silence. Steve refusing to make eye contact, and Bucky staring expectantly at Steve.

“Fucking bullshit,” Steve mumbled again, rolling his wrists.

“Yeah, you’ve made your opinions on this situation, among other things, very clear,” Bucky said, his annoyance growing steadily.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Among other things?” Steve spat back at him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Bucky hissed. “Do you need a reminder? Or do you just go around calling people you don’t even know ‘entitled, fake-ass flakes’? And here I thought I was special.”

 Bucky poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and crossed to the window. He could feel his skin crawling up his back. He hated confrontation and the way it made him feel out of place in his own body, but he figured this was inevitable. Might as well get the cards out on the table.

“You’re one to fucking talk,” Steve growled. “Prancing around and tweeting shit about people who’ve never done anything to you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky whirled around to stare incredulously at Steve. “When have I ever tweeted shit about—I’ve got better things to do than sit around thinking about terrible things to say about you.”

“Like waiting around for Tony to hand you some trashy pop song about partying and sex to record?” Steve sneered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky spluttered. He was pissed now. “Have you even listened to any of my music? I suppose you probably can’t even hear with your head so far up your own ass, though.”

“That  _ would _ make things difficult,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes.

“And for the record: I write all my own music. None of which is just about partying and sex.” Bucky threw himself back into his chair. “My entire album is about my struggle growing up gay. Struggling for a father’s approval you know you’ll never get. About how society spits all over you if you aren’t the perfect image of masculinity. You’d know that if you bothered to support other artists instead of just running off after the Commandos are finished. But you’re too big and successful to care. Must be nice having it so easy.”

“Easy?” Steve spat outraged, turning to glare daggers at Bucky. “You think we had it fucking EASY? We clawed our way to where we are. We were working and just scraping by in this industry for five years before signing with Stark. Don’t you dare fucking say we had it easy.” He was practically foaming at the mouth. “And not that you fucking care, but that night at the Grammy’s? I was in fucking agony. My fibromyalgia was off the charts,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest and hopping up on the windowsill. “I never called you an entitled, fake-ass flake by the way.”

Both sat in semi-stunned silence. They’d revealed more than either had intended. The silence stretched, becoming awkward and heavy. Neither Steve nor Bucky would make eye contact, though now it was for entirely different reasons. 

Bucky drummed his fingers anxiously on the table. It was a habit he’d picked up at school. When he got nervous he started playing or composing songs on any flat surface he could pretend was  a piano.

Steve unfurled himself from the windowsill and began stretching. Bucky watched as he moved through a series of moves and then got down on the floor. Steve scooched himself as close as he could to the wall and then laid down on his back, sticking his legs up the wall.

Both of them popped up like meerkats when the electronic beep of the door lock clicked open. Wes meekly pushed his head through the door and cautiously smiled at Bucky.

“Uh… Maria told me to come get lunch orders,” he said, the sentence coming out as more of a question. “She said we’re ordering from Hillstones.” Wes looked at them expectantly.

“I’ll uh—I’ll have a burger, extra onions, and fries I guess,” said Bucky. “Oh and a mint chip shake if that’s possible, Wes.”

Wes beamed at him, clearly surprised Bucky had remembered his name. “Sure thing Mr. Wolf, sir. And for you Mr. Rogers?”

“I’ll have the same, minus the onions,” answered Steve, looking at Bucky oddly. “And uh—Wes, was it? Anyway you could find me a heating pad?

“I’ll get right on that.” With that Wes closed and re-locked the door.

“So…” Steve said, smirking at Bucky. “Mint chip milkshake.”

“It’s the best flavour of ice cream,” Bucky asserted.

“Wow. Two things we agree on.”

“Who’d have thought?” Bucky laughed. “Y’know,” he continued, “this doesn’t have to be awful.”

“Hmmm? Care to elaborate?”

“How about we stop antagonizing each other, and try to, y’know, get to know each other. Maybe, call me crazy, actually learn to be… I don’t know if friends is possible, but maybe something like that?” Bucky suggested.

Steve didn’t respond, just eyed him critically.

“Clearly there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. I didn’t always dislike you either. I don’t want to keep disliking you. Can’t we just put whatever this feud was behind us?” Bucky suddenly felt exhausted. “I don’t like this fighting.”

“I don’t either,” Steve said guardedly. “And you’re right, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. Your name for instance. If we’re going to continue this thing—and I’m willing to—I’m gonna need something to call you that isn’t ‘Wolf’.” 

“James. My name is James.”

He actually smiled at Bucky. A real genuine smile. “James. I can work with that.”

Bucky stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

“Don’t push it James,” Steve warned, grasping Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go with… allies.”

“Deal.”

“Ah, I see you two have finally kissed and made up,” Tony exclaimed from the doorway. “Well, no  _ kissing,  _ as per the contract, but you know what I mean. And just in time for lunch too.” He brought a straw to his lips and took a big slurp. “Ugh, who ordered mint chip?”

 _________________________________

From the Facebook of Steve Rogers (Official):

It’s been brought to my attention by someone special that I should probably join the 21 st  century. So here goes. I’m posting an update. Probably going to regret this.

Reply from Wolf (Official):

@CommandoCaptOfficial awww baby’s first post.  XOXO ;p

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, took a little break between updates. My bad! Guess I've had a bit of summer brain.
> 
> Steve and Bucky have managed to work out a truce, meaning there'll be some actual bonding coming in the near future. Will they become more than just allies? Will the be able to write a song together? Will they be able to convince Tony of their brilliant taste in milkshakes?
> 
> Tune in next time to find out.


	9. Chapter 9

“Honestly Sam, I was a perfect  _ gentleman _ ,” Steve said, yanking the cupboard door open.

 

There was a muffled thudding from over the phone line, and then more muffled noises. Steve switched the phone over to his better ear and turned up the volume. 

 

The noise turned out to be gales of laughter, Sam having clearly dropped his phone in surprise. Steve glared at the wall waiting for him to come back.

 

“Oh man,” Sam said after a minute, struggling to regain his breath. “You kill me, Rogers.”

 

Steve  _ harrumphed _ .

 

“I thought we were friends, Sam.”

 

“We  _ are _ friends, Steve. We’ve been friends for 30 years. Which is why I can say,  _ for certain _ , you’ve never been a gentleman in your entire life.”

 

“Ok,  _ fine _ ,” Steve conceded. “But at the end of the meeting, we were actually, you know, talking at least. Instead of shouting. That’s something right?”

 

Sam whistled. “That’s not bad, Steve. Actually sounds like you’re making some progress with the guy. Even if this is still the single most ludicrous plan I’ve ever heard.”

 

Steve sighed. “You don’t have to remind me.”

 

“Show business is crazy, man” Sam said. “God knows social work is hard enough; at least I don’t have to deal with  _ celebrities _ on a regular basis. So, now that you’re not convinced he’s the devil incarnate, what’s the famous Wolf like?”

 

“That’s the thing, Sam. I have absolutely no idea. I… I thought I knew, but I don’t think I do.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I just thought he was this showy upstart that wore flashy clothes and wouldn’t know hard work if it kicked him in the ass, but now… I’m not so sure?”

 

“That doesn’t actually clarify much, Rogers.”

 

Steve couldn’t help the eyeroll, even if Sam couldn’t see it. “It was just… some things he said. About why he wrote his music. It wasn’t really too far removed from why I write mine, I guess. He’s dealt with some things.”

 

“How about that,” Sam said, voice dripping with false surprise. “You mean one of those assumptions you like to make about people wasn’t correct? Shocking. No really, man. I’m stunned. Flat on the floor. I think  _ I _ might need a therapist after that revelation. My worldview is shattered.”

 

“I  _ guess _ so,” Steve grumbled. “But I mean, Sam, you saw that tweet, months ago. And all the shit that came after it…” 

 

“Yeah, I know, bud. And what you said happened at that meeting… It sounds like you weren’t alone in making some assumptions.”

 

“Yeah?”   
  


“Well, yeah, of course. Everybody does. It’s what makes us human, the ability to make terrible, snap, decisions about people based on a lack of information.”

 

Steve laughed. “Yeah, you’ve got that right.”

 

“And if you were doing your usual curmudgeonly thing…”

 

“Ok, ok,” Steve said. “Possibly I wasn’t,  _ quite,  _ on  my best behaviour.”

 

“Ah, and the truth finally comes out!” Sam replied triumphantly. Steve could almost hear him fist pumping. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go you and your counseling skills, as per usual, making me talk.”

 

“Whatever, you love me. Your inner ninety-seven year old man just  _ loves _ my counseling. So what are you going to do now? More candlelit dinners?”

 

Steve shuddered. “God, I hope not. That was the worst. I’m not sure, though. Pegs said she was going to meet up with the other manager, think up something together. Hope it doesn’t involve too much walking.”

 

“I’m sure Peggy has you covered. She knows you. And even better, she puts up with you.”

 

“Haha,” Steve drawled. “Well, I’ll find out tomorrow afternoon, anyways.”

 

“And you’ll keep me updated? I am officially intrigued by all of this.”

 

“Course I will, Sam. You’re probably the only sane person I know right now. The guys in the group have been texting me everyday, trying to give me ‘relationship advice’. Dernier’s last suggestion involved raw shellfish and horses.”

 

“Eugh. No wonder that dude’s still single.”

 

“Seriously. I’ll give you a call after the next date.”

 

“Sounds good, bud. Maybe board games and pizza soon?”

 

“For sure. See ya.”

 

Steve hung up, and turned to reconsider the bare shelves of his cupboards. He knew he’d been forgetting to do something; apparently that something was grocery shopping. He considered his phone. If he ordered ramen for dinner, he could eat some leftovers for breakfast. And then he wouldn’t have to suffer through grocery shopping until after the date.

 

Ugh, even the thought of it made him squirm. 

 

Well, he wouldn’t worry about it until it was actually here. He may as well use that energy to write some music.

 

Dialing up the ramen place around the corner, Steve had one thought that he tried to hold on to. 

 

At least it couldn’t be as bad as that dinner. 

 

__________________________________________________________

 

Steve took it back. Steve took it like, so far back he was currently regretting ever even getting into show business. 

 

Balefully, he absorbed the screaming children and rumbling rides, the smells of corndogs and cotton candy, and the thousand whirling colours that accompanied a day at Coney Island. 

 

As he watched, a seagull swooped down and stole a small child’s pretzel. The kid proceeded to throw himself down into a tantrum, and then threw up. 

 

Nevermind, he was now regretting ever showing anyone his music. He could have been a great… office worker, or something. Or maybe a monk. They never had to deal with places like this.

 

Just as he was making plans to run off to the priesthood, someone called out to him. 

 

“Steve! Hey!”

 

Steve turned to see James working his way towards him. Watching him dodge around a family of tourists, Steve took him in.

 

James’ hair was piled in a bun on the top of his head, with a few snaky tendrils escaping to frame his face. Gigantic yellow aviators nestled in his hair, and he had huge earrings of pink and black shapes dangling down his neck. He was wearing a hot pink romper with some kind of electric blue 90s print, and had matching electric blue high top sneakers. Over that was a hot pink cropped jacket with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Over one shoulder was a yellow backpack covered in a shag material. 

 

It was… a lot. 

 

Steve took a deep breath, and remembered what Sam had said about his assumptions. 

 

Actually, the whole thing wasn’t bad, just bright. He kind of liked the sneakers.

 

James finally managed to get around the family, and came up to Steve. 

 

“Hey, you!” he said sunnily. “We’ve got a nice day for it!”

 

Right, making their best efforts.

 

He tried to muster up some kind of show business smile, which, given the confused look that then spread across James’ face, clearly did not go so well.

 

“Uh, yeah, we sure do,” he managed. “Where to first?”

 

James looked around, seemingly evaluating his choices. Steve noticed that the corners of his eyes seemed a little pinched. 

 

“Maybe… the carousel? Seems like a good place to start.”

 

Steve inwardly groaned a little, but again, tried to remember Sam’s advice. 

 

“Sure, let’s go,” he said, starting off. 

 

Making their way over, they waited in line for 10 minutes to get on the ride. The warm April sunshine beat down on the back of Steve’s neck as they waited, and he started to regret wearing the spiked jacket he’d chosen.

 

As they got closer to the front of the line, the kids surrounding them started to scream louder and louder. 

 

Finally, they made it on, and the ride began.

 

After 10 rounds, Steve was pretty sure his head was going to fall off. The carousel flew around circle after dizzying circle, and the kids screamed in excitement the entire time. The calliope music crashed merrily in his ears, making his head throb in time. 

 

Eventually, it slowed and then stopped. Steve teetered off his horse, grabbing the plastic pole for balance, and looked around for James.

 

James was holding his pole similarly, and for a moment, Steve thought he could see his own expression mirrored on his face. 

 

Then James looked up, and that sunny smile took over again. His eyes were glued somewhere over Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve turned, and saw several teens holding up phones in their direction.

 

Oh, right. He tried to wave a little in their direction, and some of their mouths dropped open. Steve sighed inwardly.

 

He turned back to see James giving him a look of amusement, and he rolled his eyes. He wearily followed James off the ride, away from the kids with the phones. 

 

“That was… fun! Very nostalgic!” James enthused when they were back on the ground.

 

“Yeah, it was definitely something,” Steve managed. “What did you want to try next?”

 

Next turned out to be the shooting games, which James turned out to be surprisingly good at, and made Steve’s ears ring. After that was the ferris wheel, which wobbled so much he was sure they’d fall out and die. 

 

And everywhere,  _ everywhere _ were people waving and holding phones up and pointing. Steve managed to tune it out mostly, but it certainly wasn’t helping his discomfort. 

 

Then they made their way up to the Cyclone.

 

The line had to be at least a hundred people long. Kids screamed and parents yelled. Everybody was being shoved around and above everything, the ever present shriek and rattle of the roller coaster was deafening. 

 

Steve’s ears were ringing. His back was aching from being jolted on the ferris wheel, his head was pounding from the smells and bright lights, and his stomach was starting to twist in a way that meant trouble. 

 

Completely zoned out, he didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until a man bumped into him. The guy turned to yell at him, seemed to take in Steve’s blue mohawk and spikes, blanche and quickly moved on. 

 

Steve turned to James, wondering why he wasn’t prodding him to keep moving.

The bottom half of James’ face still displayed that showy smile, but from where Steve was standing, he could see directly behind his sunglasses. Lines had drawn themselves tightly around the corners of his eyes and sweat beaded his forehead. 

 

Steve looked down, and noticed that James was worrying the rings on his fingers. 

 

Steve looked back at the line, the people, and the ride. 

 

“You know what?” he murmured.

 

James looked at him. 

 

“Fuck. It,” Steve said decidedly.

 

James blinked at him. 

 

“What?”

 

“I said, fuck it. You want to get out of here?” Steve asked.

 

Now James looked really startled.

 

“But the, the--”

 

“Way I see it,” Steve said, “The--Tony just stipulated we be together. It never said  _ where _ .”

 

Steve saw the moment the implication dawned on James’ face. He raised an eyebrow at Steve.

 

“Where did you have in mind?”

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

“Oh, this is definitely more like it,” James said as they walked around the corner and stopped in front of the neon sign. 

 

Steve smirked, and held open the door for him. “I can’t say I know much about pairing wine or speaking French, but a good dive bar? That I can do.”

 

James rolled his eyes as he walked past him and started down the stairs to the basement where the bar was. 

 

Once inside, they made their way to one of the darker corners in the back of the bar. Being a mid Sunday afternoon, there were only a few other patrons in the bar. 

 

Steve saw James’ eyes flick to them as they got their seats in the booth.

 

“I wouldn’t worry about them,” he offered. “People pretty much mind their own business here. Bruce makes sure of it. Besides, I don’t think anyone would recognize you anyways.”

 

Steve was almost 100% sure on that. Before they’d left the amusement park, James had disappeared into one of the public bathrooms. He’d come out wearing comfortable looking dark pants, a zip-up jacket, a beanie tucked over his hair, and the earrings gone. The shag backpack had turned inside out to reveal plain blue canvas. Even with the sneakers and sunglasses, he looked like a completely different person.

 

James quirked his mouth ruefully, and tugged his beanie lower over his ears. 

 

“What can I say, transformation has always been a gift of mine, I guess. You’re not too bad at it yourself.”

 

Steve adjusted his glasses, feeling thankful again about having carried them and another jacket in his bag. 

 

“You know me,” he said. “I don’t really like attention. Maybe I’m just a little more practiced at dodging it.”

 

James opened his mouth to say something when Bruce appeared at Steve’s elbow.

 

“Hey man, long time no see,” Steve said with genuine pleasure. 

 

“That is entirely on you,” Bruce replied. “You know where to find me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just been a crazy few weeks.”

 

“I’d certainly say so.  Going to introduce me to your… friend?” Bruce looked pointedly at James.

 

“Oh,” Steve said, “Right. Yeah. This is-” he looked at James, who nodded slowly. 

 

“This is... Jay. My-- my boyfriend?”

 

James shot a look at Steve, and he winced. He didn’t mean it to come out as a question. 

 

“Charmed,” Bruce said, “I am entirely sure. Actually, mostly confused. I’ve known Steve for a long, long time-”

 

“Five years!” Steve interjected.

 

“--And he’s never brought anybody interesting around. Well.  _ Good  _ interesting anyway--”

 

“And that’s enough, can we have something to drink,  _ please _ ? Mr.  _ Bartender _ ?” Steve sputtered, waving a hand at Bruce. James was outright snickering at him. 

 

“Hmm, I guess so,” Bruce said, crossing his arms. “The usual for you, Steve ?”

 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

“And you?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at James.

 

“Dark and Stormy would be good?” James asked, sounding hesitant.

 

Bruce nodded approvingly. “Good choice. Be back in a few.” He went off in the direction of the bar.

 

James grinned at Steve. “He’s fun.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s something. He’s a good friend though.”

 

They sat for a few moments without talking. Steve could feel his nerves evening out after the chaos of the park, and sighed as he felt some of the tension leaving his back and head. He rotated his wrists a few times, working out some of the ache. 

 

Looking up, he saw James leaning back into the booth, looking at least a little less tense, to Steve’s eye. He was also staring at Steve.

 

“What?”

 

James pointed. “That. You do it a lot. Why?”

 

Steve blinked. He was so used to the few people he interacted with knowing everything about him. He guessed it could look a little weird. 

 

“It’s uh, something I do to help keep my wrists loose. They ache a lot in general.”

 

“Because of the… fibromyalgia? You called it?”

 

“Yeah. They get sore… a lot. This helps a little.”

 

“Huh,” James looked considering. “I… didn’t realize.”

 

“Well, I mean, I don’t really advertise,” Steve said. “It’s kind of personal.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” James said. “It’s just--”

 

Bruce took that moment to arrive with their drinks, settling a tall glass of dark liquid in front of James and a shorter, rounder chalice of an amber liquid in front of Steve.

 

“Usual for you, Steve, and something more interesting for your better half.”

 

“Gee thanks, bud,” Steve drawled.

 

“Any time, amigo.” Bruce waved and was off.

 

“You were saying?” Steve said, picking up his drink. 

 

“Well--it’s exactly that,” James said, pointing to Steve’s drink. 

 

“My drink?” 

 

“Exactly!” James exclaimed. “We’re supposed--”

 

He looked around suddenly, and leaned in. 

 

“We’re supposed to be  _ dating _ , and I don’t even know what your  _ usual _ is,” he whispered.

 

Steve looked down at his drink, and back up again.

 

“It’s, uh, it’s Brighton Bourbon.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s bourbon that Bruce makes at home. It may not be--uh-- super legal--”

 

“Oh my god!” James rolled his eyes. “You  _ know _ that’s not what I was really asking about--”

 

“Hey!” Steve snapped. “You said you didn’t know something about me, and I’m telling you. And--and whatever else you want to know. I guess. You just--you just gotta ask. I’m not a mind reader.”

 

“O-oh,” James leaned back in the booth. 

 

Steve looked away, grabbing his drink and taking a large swig. James had flustered him into honesty, somehow. He stared into the honey-coloured liquid, avoiding meeting James’ eye.

 

“I mean...” James started carefully. Steve looked up. James was looking back at him. “I guess I should have known subtext wasn’t really a thing you did, based on the whole, you know, punk-social-justice-screaming thing.”

 

Steve snorted. “Well, if you’d listened to my first album, you’d have already known that.”

 

“Well definitely from  _ Punch More Nazis _ and  _ Throw the Motorcycle _ , but  _ Marvel At Your Heroes _ is a bit different--”

 

“Wait, what?” Steve stopped him, holding up a hand. “You  _ did  _ listen to  _ UnCivil Civilians _ ?

 

“Yeah,” James said. “I try to listen to everyone that’s doing well in this business. And you guys have been in the game for over 10 years now. Plus you write some total bangers.” He flashed Steve a smile, his eyes twinkling warmly in the bar’s dim light.

 

He said it so matter-of-factly, but Steve could also see a bit of redness stealing over his ears. James slowly turned his drink in his hands, watching the bubbles collecting at the edge of the glass.

 

“I don’t--I don’t really do music the way you do, but the way your songs are about being honest, being direct? About the important things? That’s what I remember thinking your music was about in that album.” He glanced up at Steve, meeting his gaze. “And that maybe I should write honestly, like that. Your music was some of the music that helped convince me to make a go of this business.” He dropped his eyes back to the table.“Not that--not that I know your stuff  _ perfectly _ or anything, I mean it’s not really my usual genre--” He looked back up suddenly, his eyes wide.

 

“It’s--it’s fine,” Steve interjected. “I know what you mean. I uh, I appreciate it.”

 

Great, now both of their faces were red. He took another gulp of the bourbon. 

 

Honesty, huh?

 

“So, uh,” he started. James looked up at him.

 

 “What else did you want to know?” Steve asked. 

 

_________________________________________________________________

 

“So, yeah,” Steve said comfortably, leaning back into the cushion of the booth. “Sometimes I just can’t move too fast, because it’ll kill my back or my knees or my ankles. And then when I can, the subway is always late. So being on time takes… usually more organization than I possess.” 

 

“Huh,” James said, plopping his chin into his hand. “I thought it was just because you didn’t care about societal norms. You know, ‘fuck the man and his societally conceived notions of time!’”

 

Steve snorted, probably more loudly than was dignified. 

 

“Not  _ everything _ I do every day is political.” 

 

“Are you sure? Carol Hanisch would be so disappointed. I kind of pictured you angrily pouring corn flakes every morning,” James said, grinning a little lopsidedly. 

 

Steve snickered, and tried to reverse some of the leaning that was going on. He had some success, now he was… technically closer to upright. 

 

It was those four tumblers of bourbon weighing him down, probably. James’ Dark And Stormy, one Tom Collins, and one Brighton Bourbon seemed to be doing something like that to his shoulders as well.

 

Bucky blew a tendril of hair out of his face, from where it had escaped his hat. 

 

“You’re good at that whole... thing,” Steve said, waving a hand gently in James’ general direction. 

 

“What d’you mean?”

 

“The whole--you know--changing thing you do,” Steve said. “Like, you can even change your face to be opposite of what you’re thinking. I can’t even  _ pretend _ to do that.”

 

“Oh. That,” James said flatly. He dragged a finger through some of the condensation on the table.

 

Damn it. He’d been doing ok over these last few hours too. He thought he’d actually avoided putting his foot in his mouth for one entire afternoon. But now James was shutting down again.

 

“I just mean, it’s  _ impressive _ , is what I mean,” Steve tried.

 

James looked back up at him, and Steve was relieved to see he didn’t look mad, just kind of... sheepish?

 

“I couldn’t,” he said, bringing the tips of his fingers together, “Really be myself for a long time. A  _ very  _ long time. And I realized that if you pretend to be someone else, you don’t get as much attention placed on the real you. You can hide a little, I guess. Be safer.”

 

He smiled.

 

“That’s what I get from Wolf. Center of attention, but never exactly. He lets me be me, but… safely. All the parts I’m okay with people seeing. He’s like my… armour.”

 

He played with the edge of his drink, looking down again. 

 

Steve took his glass, and carefully clinked it against James’. James looked back at him.

 

“In that case,” Steve said, “Cheers. To doing the best with what we’ve got.”

 

James rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

 

_______________________________________________________

 

“So--so then!” Steve tried not to choke on laughter. “That’s when Jones just broke in with ‘That wasn’t beer, my dude’, took a shot of tequila, and walked away!”

 

James howled with laughter and Steve joined him, banging on the table. A few of the leftover glasses bounced a little on the now very sticky surface.

 

“ _ Man _ ,” James said. “Your bandmates… your bandmates sound cool.” 

 

“Yeah, they’re good dudes,” Steve said. “Obnoxious sometimes, but good dudes. One of them keeps offering to get me shellfish for you.”

 

“Probs not a good thing; I’m allergic to shellfish.”

 

Steve mimed writing it down, and James giggled a little. 

 

Steve grinned, propping his face on his hand. Man, when did heads get so  _ heavy _ ?

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” James said, waving a hand and pulling out his phone. “I gotta tweet that.”

 

“ _ Boooo _ ,” Steve moaned. “Tweeting is dumb.”

 

“It is  _ not _ !” James said, clutching his hand to his chest and looking highly affronted. He managed to keep his angry look for about five seconds, and then dissolved into more giggles. 

 

“Okay, maybe it is a  _ little _ , but it’s important! It’s… super important!” 

 

“Ok fine, mister smarty social media…” Steve had to think around the bourbon for a minute, “Uh, guy. Explain why.”

 

“Wha?” James looked surprised. He was swaying a little.

 

“Why is... so important. The social medias.” Steve thought for a minute. “All of them.”

 

James thought about it for a minute, and then stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly. Then he came around to the other side of the table and plopped himself down in the booth with Steve, narrowly missing Steve’s lap.

 

Steve blinked. 

 

“Didja know we’re almost the same height when you’re sitting?”

 

“ _ Shush _ ,” James said firmly. “I am  _ teaching _ you things.” He flourish widely with his phone, almost clocking Steve in the head, and then gently placed it down on the table in front of them, snaking his other arm around Steve’s shoulders.

 

“Click on Twitter,” he said firmly.

 

“So, that’s the… swirly one, right--”

 

“ _ Oh. My. God _ . It’s the bird one!”

 

Steve nudged his glasses up slightly and picked out the tiny bird from all the other apps. He stabbed it carefully with his finger.

 

“Ok,” James said. “Now look up our hashtag.”

 

“That’s the sharp symbol, right? Did you know that’s actually called an octothorp?”   
  


James looked skyward. “ _ Yes,  _ Lord help me.”

 

“You know, this isn’t really teaching--”

 

“I’ll buy you another bourbon.”

 

“And, looking it up.”

 

After a bit of trial and error, Steve found the search bar and then turned back to James expectantly. James raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why would I know what our hashtag is?”

 

Sighing, James took the phone and typed “#howlingwolf” in the search bar.

 

Steve was about to ask--howling wolf,  _ really _ ? When the search populated. 

 

“#howlingwolf out there  _ killing _ it today at Coney Island,” the first tweet read from someone with a title of @skinnyjesus.

 

“...Ok,” Steve said. “I mean, thanks I guess, but I don’t really--”

 

“Keep  _ reading _ ,  _ c’mooon--” _

 

“Okay, okay, yeesh…”

 

Steve scrolled down to the next tweet. 

 

“Seeing two guys out on a cute date makes my  _ day, _ ” the second tweet read, from someone named @historyispunkrock. “#howlingwolf redefining gender roles here.”

 

“Ok,” Steve admitted. “That’s not bad…”

 

James took the phone back, and scrolled down slightly. Then he handed it back.

 

“Ok, now look at  _ that _ one,” he said, pointing. 

 

“Seeing Steve Rogers out and proud reminds me that real love is punk rock #howlingwolf,” the tweet, by someone called @arrowsgirl read.

 

Steve was silent. He scrolled a little further.

 

“Their music keeps me together #howlingwolf” from @reinazdogz. 

 

“It’s so great to have representation, this matters so much #howlingwolf” from @irishsaints. 

 

“Oh,” Steve murmured. 

 

“ _ Exactly _ ,” James said. He shot a small smile Steve’s way, and then grabbed the rest of his drink and drained it. He set it back down on the table with a decisive  _ thunk _ . 

 

He pointed directly at Steve, who went slightly cross eyed trying to keep it in his sights. 

 

“It’s time for your first tweet. No arguments!”

 

Steve nodded resolutely. He grabbed his drink and drained it in solidarity. 

 

“I think they gave me a twitter on my phone, hang on.”

 

With some effort, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and set it down on the table. After a few moments, Twitter sat open and ready on his phone. 

 

As he lifted his hand to start typing, James laid his own on it. Steve looked up to see James staring at him solemnly. 

 

“It’s gotta be  _ good _ , Steve. First tweet is  _ sacred _ .”

 

Steve nodded seriously and picked up his phone. Carefully he started stabbing the letters one at a time. 

 

“Hello… twitters… it’s me. Wolfy…”

 

“Hey!”

 

Steve grinned at him. “Contract says I can’t use yer name.”

 

James rolled his eyes and sniffed. “Fine fine fine, for your first tweet, I guess.”

 

Steve continued typing. 

 

“Wolfy… says… I… should…”

 

Which was exactly as far as he got, when Bruce appeared at the end of their table again. 

 

“Sorry gents, time to pack it in.”

 

“Aw, Bruce,” Steve whined. “Ja-- uh, Jay was showing me the twitters!”

 

He waved at James, who tried to arrange his face into a beseeching expression. It mostly appeared to involved him trying to bat his eyes at Bruce, which in reality was more like a lot of blinking. 

 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I think you’re done for the evening, guys. Everybody else is gone home and I want to go home too. C’mon, out you go. There should be some cabs out there.”

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Steve grumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket. Next to him, James wobbled to his feet, and then turned and tugged Steve up after him. 

 

They swayed up the stairs and out the door, calling goodbyes to Bruce. 

 

Bumping shoulders companionably, they wandered about a half a block down the street before James suddenly ground to a halt. Steve bumped lightly off his back.

 

“Whazzup?” Steve asked, rubbing his nose.

 

“Steve.  _ Steve _ ,” James said, turning to him with wide eyes.

 

“ _ What?” _

 

“We can’t do a cab. People will talk.” 

 

“What?”

 

“Cab drivers. They talk a lot. I know it. Can’t take a cab.”

 

Steve pondered this for a moment. 

 

Sounded like it could be right.

 

Hmm.

 

Then he pulled out his phone again, and dialed a number.

 

“Heeeey Pegs--”

 

____________________________________________________________

  
  


From the Twitter of @CapCommando

 

Hello twitters it’s me. Wolfy says I should

  
  


Reply from @surreality_fan

@CapCommando You ok there? 

 

Reply from @DumDum

@CapCommando Aw bro you have all the fun

 

Reply from @birchplease

@CapCommando LOL WOLFY

 

Reply from @FanGirling

@CapCommando Welcome to twitter!

 

Reply from @JustGalsBeingPals

WOLFYYYYY HELP

 

Reply from @raretunadelicacy

WOLFY MY HEART

 

Reply from @Mae

I”M DEAD <3

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, it's ya boy (and girl) back with another update.
> 
> Glad people seem to be enjoying the ridiculous adventures of these two. Don't worry, they get more ridiculous. Reading your comments warms our hearts, and is so refreshing after working on this story for so long.
> 
> Next date will be glittery and star-studded. Hopefully we (read: DowagerEmpress, keeper of the updates, mistress of shipper's row) won't keep you waiting. As in updating won't slip my mind.
> 
> Peace, babes!


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky’s head swam. The soft bedding he was cocooned in absorbed the whining moan that accompanied consciousness. Indistinct whorls of colour bloomed across his vision as his eyes desperately tried to adjust to the wan spring sunlight filtering through his open window. His limbs were leaden, a stark contrast to his head which felt as if it were being batted around like a beachball. 

With great effort he heaved himself upright, grimacing as his head swam and throbbed worse. It had been a long time since he’d had a hangover this bad. Hell, it’d been a long time since he’d been drunk. He would have loved to stay in bed a few more hours, content to revel in his own misery, but he knew he’d only feel worse. Coffee would help clear his head and alleviate the cotton mouth. Loathe as he was to admit it, a good workout would help too.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly in the plush carpet. Heaving himself to standing, he shivered as cool air met his exposed, overheated skin. He was grateful that drunk Bucky had had the presence of mind to strip out of his clothes last night. The sensation doubled when he saw the tall glass of water on the bedside table, along with the two ibuprofen.

It was amazing how a little bit of water was able to make him feel human again.

He padded down the hallway towards the kitchen. The apartment was still and quiet in the early morning, the solitude of dawn, as yet, undisturbed. Bucky stopped dead when he entered the living room. Steve lay fast asleep on the couch. He was sprawled like a starfish, one leg and arm dangling, just grazing the floor. He’d forgotten to remove his glasses and they sat askew across his face. Little puffs of air escaped his lips in tiny snores. All of the usual tension Steve carried himself with had drained from his face and body. 

Bucky smiled down at him after the surprise had faded. The little punk rocker looked so peaceful when he was asleep. There was an angelic quality to him, albeit in a somewhat battered way. Bucky would never tell him that of course; he liked the current arrangement of his face.

Steve stirred, clearly coming to. His eyes shot open. He sat bolt upright with alarming speed—glasses clattering to the floor—scanning the room with a slightly panicked expression. The tension was back, etched deep in the lines of his face and hunch of his shoulders—evident in the harshness of his breathing. A wary sense of relief settled over him and he relaxed minutely when his gaze landed on Bucky.

Their eyes locked. Suddenly, Bucky was acutely aware of the fact that he’d neglected to get dressed, not expecting to come across his fake-boyfriend in the living room. He could feel the heat blazing its way up his body, certain that his face now matched his vermilion briefs. 

“Uh, good morning?” Bucky offered, surreptitiously moving to stand behind an armchair.

“Mornin’.” Steve smirked, eyeing Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “Cute undies.”

If it were possible for him to phase through the floor, Bucky would have. As it was, he turned and marched back to his bedroom.

“Aw c’mon James,” Steve called after him. “I’m just kidding!”

Bucky slouched back into the room avoiding Steve’s eye. He’d put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a faded navy Juilliard hoodie. “Can we just forget that that happened?”

Steve cocked his head, staring at Bucky as though he was a contemporary art installation.

“What?” It came out a bit harsher and defensive than Bucky had intended.

“It’s just…” Steve gestured at Bucky, from head to toe and back again. “You. This. That. Ugh—”

“What?”

“Well, I’ve seen your costumes. It’s not like underwear is much more revealing than some of the things you wear. I guess I just don’t get the bashful thing now.”

“That’s different.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s just different, okay? Can we just drop it already?”

Steve shrugged and lay back down on the couch. “Jesus,” he moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How much did we drink last night?”

“Too much,” Bucky replied, glad for the subject change. “Here.” He handed Steve a couple painkillers and went to go get him a glass of water. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?” Bucky asked returning and setting the water down on the coffee table in front of Steve.

“Coffee would be great. Do you have dark roast?”

“Um…I’m not sure. Maybe? Why?”

“Less caffeine in dark roast. I’m likely in for a rough day after all the alcohol. It’s—uh—it’s not exactly the best for me.”

“Fibromyalgia?” Bucky asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.

“Yeah. That and Peggy,” Steve laughed, but it sounded forced to Bucky. “She’s gonna tear me a new one. She gets mad when I do things I know will aggravate my symptoms.”

“Then why do you do it?” He opened cupboard and began to rummage through.

“I—I—just... ‘cause. Alright?”

“Okay.” Bucky wasn’t going to pry. Steve was entitled to his secrets the same as Bucky. “Hey look!” he cried triumphantly, pulling a bag of coffee out of the cupboard. “I found some dark roast. Cream and sugar?”

“Nah, just black.”

An amicable silence fell over the kitchen as Bucky put the coffee on to brew. Soon the air was suffused with the rich aroma of the coffee, chasing away the last dregs of dawn. Bucky passed Steve a steaming mug of the dark liquid before fixing his own with just a bit of sugar and a lot of milk. Steve laughed when he looked at the mug. It was plain white with a large ‘I’ followed by a treble staff with the notes D G A F marked in.

“I thought you might like that mug. My friend Nat gave it to me my freshman year of college. I actually ended up basing my entire final piece in composition off of that progression. It was awful.”

Steve hummed and took a sip. “I dunno… there might be something there.” He got up and went to the piano in the living room. One by one, the notes filled the air as Steve played them in a continuous loop. After a minute he came back into the kitchen. “Yeah, there’s definitely something.”

“You play piano?” Bucky asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I know which notes are which, but I wouldn’t say I play.” He shrugged. “Guitar’s always been more my thing. You?”

Bucky nodded and took a mouthful of his coffee before answering. “Piano is my main instrument, but I play guitar as well. And I used to play violin in high school. Not as much anymore; there’s not really a market for pop violinists.” 

Before he could respond, Steve’s stomach growled loudly. Bucky’s followed suit, as if Steve’s hunger had reminded him of his own.

“Breakfast. We both need breakfast.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick something up from MacDonald’s on the way home. Which I should probably be getting back to...” Steve pushed off the counter, draining the rest of the coffee in his mug.

“Or… you could, y’know, stay for breakfast,” Bucky said rolling his eyes, as he pulled pancake mix out of the cupboard.

“Oh.” Steve looked surprised. “Uh—you sure?”

The sigh Bucky heaved could only be described as long-suffering. “Yes. Besides, it would look weird. The paparazzi—who I’m sure are camped out across the street—would have a field day with you sneaking out of here at the crack of dawn. We’re supposed to be boyfriends, not a one-night-stand. I don’t know about you,” he continued, looking pointedly at Steve, “but I’d really like to avoid another reprimand from our managers.”

The look of fear that flashed across Steve’s face was enough to make Bucky burst out laughing.

“Point made,” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms and frowning at Bucky’s merriment.

A sly smile spread across Bucky’s face. “Y’know… a domestic morning with your beau would make a great first Instagram post.”

Steve glowered at Bucky.

Bucky just moved about the kitchen grabbing eggs and milk from the fridge, then set about mixing up the pancake batter, humming as he went. Steve was still glaring at him. From the corner of his eye however, he saw Steve grudgingly get out his phone.

___________________________________________________

Hours later, the car rolled to a stop outside of the House of Wyrd. Bucky peered up at the building with a sense of dread. He was not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have to have with Wanda. He’d half-debated bringing knee pads in preparation for the grovelling he was about to do. Instead he’d just brought paprikash and a box of cupcakes from Wanda’s favourite bakery.

The pleasant warm feeling that Bucky had had from his breakfast with Steve had been replaced with a sense of anxious dread. Breakfast had gone surprisingly well. It had been quiet, but companionable. That was until Steve’s manager had called him. Apparently she and Shuri had been talking, and Shuri had mentioned “what good press it’ll be when they’re photographed at the Met Ball. With any luck they’ll get on the best dressed list.”

Shit had hit the fan. Steve’s manager was insisting that he attend with Bucky. Steve was freaking out because “I always say no to that invite Pegs! What the fuck am I even going to wear? I don’t belong at something like that!” Based on the manic look of panic on his face and his erratic pacing of the kitchen following the call, Bucky could only guess that the response had been along the ‘you’re going and that’s final’ lines.

Bucky had managed to calm Steve down, slightly. He’d told him he’d talk to Wanda and see if she could whip something up. The peace of the morning had been ruined though. He’d called Steve a car, forestalling his protest with a look, and snuck him out the back of the building.

The day was cold. The unpredictable April weather had shifted from the warm, almost summer-like, temperatures of the day before, seemingly to match the cold sense of dread coiling itself around Bucky’s insides. He hurried inside, hip checking the automatic door opener as he juggled the bribes in his arms.

Bucky wasted no time in pleasantries with the man, Peter, who was working the floor. Peter just eyed the boxes in Bucky’s arms knowingly, nodding him towards the back. Bucky smiled back sheepishly. He’d feel bad if Peter ended up having to scrub his remains off the wall. He walked swiftly through the store and into Wanda’s workshop.

“What do you need?” Wanda didn’t even look up from the garment she was beading.

“Wha—What do you mean?” Bucky asked, voice pitching comically high.

“I can smell the paprikash. The only Sokovian restaurant in New York is on the other side of Manhattan.” She looked up at him, pinning him to the spot with her gaze. “And I’m guessing the box is full of cupcakes from Molly’s?”

“Can’t a guy just bring his friend some of her favourite food?” Bucky wheedled.

“What do you want Bucky?” Leaving her beading, she turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Bucky deflated with a huge sigh. He crossed the room, putting his burdens on the workbench. He took a few breaths to steady himself before turning to face Wanda.

“Let me start by saying that I hate to do this. I really do, and I understand if you say no. I’m hoping you don’t but... I don’t want to cause you any more stress. And I know you have a lot on your plate—”

“Bucky!” Wanda cut him off abruptly. She went to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, rubbing up and down his arms. “You’ve got to calm down.”

She was right. Bucky could feel his heart racing. Her hands on his arms brought attention to how tense he was. He let himself be gently pushed back until he was leaning against the workbench. At a further nudge from Wanda he hopped up and sat on the bench. Wanda sat next to him a second later, taking his hand in both of hers, rubbing soothing circles into his palm.

“Now, calmly, tell me what you need.”

“Steve needs an outfit for the Met Gala,” Bucky murmured. “I have to take him as my date.”

“And you don’t want that punk to tarnish Wolf’s style game?” she laughed, nudging his shoulder. Bucky cracked half a smile.

“No, actually.” He continued to stare down at his feet. “We’ve uh—we’ve actually started getting along. There’s—there’s a lot I didn’t know about him. And a lot I just assumed that turned out not to be true.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he admitted.

“So what does this have to do with the Met Gala?”

“He got a call about it this morning while we were having breakfast?”

Wanda’s eyes flew wide open, eyebrows encroaching on her hairline.

“Nothing happened, pervert!” Bucky laughed. “You’re as bad as the tabloids.”

“True. Hookups were never your thing…much to Pietro’s chagrin.”

“Anyway…” Bucky  cried, flustered. “He seemed really freaked out after the call. It’s really not his scene, y’know? And I got the impression he was actually really worried about looking stupid or out-of-place. He calmed down a little when I told him I’d take care of it.” 

Humming thoughtfully, Wanda hopped down from the bench and gave a little twirl. She picked up her sewing again and resumed beading.

“What?

“Nothing,” Wanda replied.  “But you’re gonna have to heat up that paprikash and keep a steady supply of it coming if I’m going to pull together an outfit by next Monday.”

___________________________________________

The first Monday in May dawned warm and sunny. Once again the unseasonable heat of spring had descended upon New York. 

The persistent drone of Bucky’s alarm woke him before dawn. He shoved the comforter off his body and sprung out of bed. The hour was earlier than he was used to, but it was a special day. He’d barely slept, and just wanted to get ready. His morning flew by, filled with various beauty treatments and grooming specialists.

Wanda came in around lunch to set up. They sped their way through the meal before both of them had to get back to getting ready. 

While Wanda placed his garment on a dressform in the corner, Bucky was whisked into his bathroom where the hairstylist and makeup artist were setting up. Normally Bucky liked to do his own hair and makeup, a holdover from his club days; he found the process relaxed him and allowed him to smoothly transition from Bucky to Wolf. Today, however, he was leaving it to the experts. There was no way he’d relax from the giddy excitement he was feeling. Going to the Met Gala had been a dream of his for  _ years _ , and becoming Wolf once he slipped into Wanda’s handiwork would be easy.

Steve was no doubt just starting to get ready himself. Pietro would have just arrived to do the first and final fitting for whatever he and Wanda had cooked up. A small, amused smile cracked Bucky’s lips as he imagined Steve being wrangled into submission by Peggy Carter and a tenacious glam squad.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom feeling light as a cloud. The feeling moved him until he was dancing around his bedroom singing to himself, the light silk of his robe billowing around him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He turned towards the voice. Wanda stood in the doorway, an expression somewhere between amused and proud on her face.

“Very much so,” Bucky smiled, grabbing her by the hand and twirling her around the room. Normally he’d have been embarrassed to be caught mincing around, but it was Wanda, and today he couldn’t care less. “Would I sound too much like some moon-eyed Disney character if I said this feels like a  _ dream _ ; like a wonderful dream?”

“You would,” Wanda laughed, “but I won’t hold it against you. Besides… It’s a big day for me too, so I know where you’re coming from. C’mon.” She drifted to a stop, still holding Bucky’s hand. “We’ve got your final fitting to do.”

Standing in front of the mirror in the living room, Bucky surveyed himself in awe. A patchwork of black and charcoal, veined with silver embroidery, the jacket flared from his shoulders, shooting down to trail behind him. The shoulders and collar rose to form three peaks. Beneath that, Bucky wore a sheer black dress with a ruff collar, and a pair of tight black shorts to preserve his modesty. Wanda had created an outfit that evoked the feeling of a mountain. Around his neck sat a ruby and diamond choker, on loan from Cartier, which matched with the red crystals woven into his faux-undercut. The makeup artist’s decision to go simple, with only a light smokey eye, was the right choice. It set of the grey in his eyes, making them shine like diamonds.

“Wanda, you’ve outdone yourself! I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

“I know. I’m amazing. Now, stop moving.” She gripped his shoulders, holding him in place. In a flash of scissors and needles, she deftly trimmed a few loose threads, and finished the hemming on his sleeves.

Bucky couldn’t stop staring into the mirror. He’d never imagined he’d actually get this opportunity, and he wanted to absorb every last detail.

“Okay, okay,” Wanda interrupted his thoughts. “I know you look beautiful, but we’ve gotta get going. Can’t keep your  _ kavalier  _ waiting.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at her teasing tone.  

“Here, put this on.” She handed him a trash bag. “We don’t want to give away the surprise. Every single eye at the Met is going to be on the two of you when you step out of that car, if Pietro and I have anything to say about it.”

Bucky gulped. He’d forgotten exactly how many people would be there tonight. “Can I have—uh—could you grab me a glass of water?”

“Sure.” When she returned from the kitchen, she grabbed Bucky’s hand. “ _ Listen _ , you’re going to be fine tonight. You just have to make in through the red carpet. After that, hey, what’s a few hundred people?” She tried for levity, but it fell flat. Bucky nervously twisted around the crystal rings on his fingers.

 “Bucky, look at me.” Wanda held his gaze firmly in hers, giving his hand another squeeze. “People will look, sure. But the focus will be on the clothes. Just…be Wolf. Remember that. You’re Wolf, mega pop sensation. This has been one of your dreams for as long as I’ve known you. You. Can. Do. This. And you’ll have Steve there too. He can always push someone in a fountain to draw focus. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to.”

Bucky looked up through his lashes and smiled weakly. “You’re probably right.” He took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I got this.”

She biffed him lightly on the chin. “Damn right.” 

________________________________________________

They pulled up in front of the Met, fashionably late. 

“Tell me again why I had to wear a garbage bag?” Steve asked, plucking at the offending garment.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Because,” he drew the word out, exasperated. “We don’t want the first photos of us to be paparazzi pics.”

“I guess that makes sense.” He hardly sounded convinced, crossing his arms grumpily.

“Well you can take it off now. We’re here.”

Steve somehow managed to look relieved and panicked all at once. The door opened and he pulled off the trash bag before stepping out. Bucky only got the briefest flash of blue before Steve was gone.

Bucky pulled off the trash bag, steeled himself, feeling the mask of Wolf slide in place, and stepped out of the car.

The roar of the crowd hit him like a truck. Handlers rushed around trying to herd the VIPs along the carpet; reporters called out to him, trying to get the first interview of the night. He could see the hunger in their gaze as they eyed him and Steve. Flashes went off all around them, making Bucky’s head spin. He could see Steve flinch as each one went off.

Pietro stepped between them and leaned down, putting his mouth up against Steve’s ear. Bucky wasn’t sure what he said but Steve reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of jewel encrusted sunglasses. Bucky shook himself out of his stupor and finally took a good look at Steve.

Pietro and Wanda had pulled together a miracle in about a week. The suit they’d made Steve was deep blue, and entirely leather. The jacket was somewhere between a double-breasted tuxedo and a motorcycle jacket. The collar was studded with bright red jewels, that matched the collar-brooch nestled at the base of his neck, and the stripe down the pants. They’d made the decision to crop the pants and jacket, giving the illusion that Steve was taller than he was. His mohawk had been brushed back and sprayed into place. Streaks of black and blue painted designs on the sides of his head, an echo of the tattoos that Bucky knew covered his arms.

Bucky had to keep himself from ogling. Steve looked good. The addition of the sunglasses made him look like the coolest, most confident person Bucky had ever seen, even if the fidgeting of his hands did give him away.

They made their way along the carpet. Bucky made certain to field most of the questions directed their way.

“So I guess we don’t need to ask who the girl in the relationship is?” laughed one reporter.

Beside him he could feel Steve tense, his body coiled and ready to lash out. As much as Bucky would’ve loved to see the reporter get the verbal -- and maybe physical depending on Steve’s mood -- dressing down Steve would’ve given him, they couldn’t afford a scene. 

Bucky’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when he forced out a laugh in response. “I guess not, since we’re both men. Last time I checked anyway.”

The reporter didn’t seem to notice anything off about Bucky’s response, a genuine laugh accompanying his answering “I guess you’re right.” 

 Luckily, they managed to get inside without any further incidents, and were able to deflect questions about their relationship, insisting instead that they were here to talk about the fashions.

Wanda had been right. Everyone did stop and stare when they passed by. Rihanna had even winked at him from across the hall when they were walking through the exhibit. 

Bucky was fascinated looking around at all the other stars, and their interpretations of this year’s theme—Igneous, Sedimentary, Metamorphic: Fashion and Its Foundations.

Over dinner Lady Gaga came up to him. They talked for a few minutes about coming up through the New York club scene. She gushed over his look. He thanked her graciously and introduced her to Wanda.

Steve held his own over dinner. He chatted amicably with Ryan Reynolds; he was the one playing the lead in  _ Winter Soldier: Maelstrom.  _ He was also a big Howling Commandos fan and invited Steve and Bucky a pre-screening of an early cut of the movie.

Dinner finished and Steve and Bucky went to walk through the exhibit. The gowns were being displayed on platforms that had been sculpted to look like stalagmites. Low lighting cast the illusion of a cave. Pools of water, lit orange to resemble pools of magma, formed a path to guide the guests through the exhibit.

“Hey,” Steve whispered at him, drawing Bucky’s focus from the dress he was looking at.  “Are you taller than usual, or am I crazy?”

Bucky laughed. Several heads turned to frown at him before he reigned it in. “You’re not crazy.” He hitched up the hem of his skirt a little, revealing a pair of ruby-encrusted stilettos.

“Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“How you were so sure footed when you were shit-faced.”

Bucky grinned. “Yup. Drunk in flats is nothing when you’ve done drunk in heels. You should see what I can do in these things.”

Steve burst out laughing. He steadfastly ignored the glares that were sent his way. “Y’know,” he said, looking around the room. “This is actually pretty cool. These outfits are so elaborate. I never really considered how much work and artistry went into fashion before meeting Pietro and Wanda.”

“They’re incredible,” Bucky agreed. “That’s why they’re the only designers I work with. They make all my outfits for stage and red carpet.”

“No wonder you always look great.” 

Bucky was pretty sure Steve hadn’t meant to say that, if the lovely shade of crimson he was turning was any indication. He decided to spare Steve and offer a compliment of his own.

“You look very handsome tonight too.”

“Thanks… I’m—uh—not used to getting this dressed up.” 

“It looks good on you. It’s like a high-fashion version of what you usually do. But it doesn’t suit you. Not in a bad way,” Bucky said quickly when he saw Steve’s expression. “It’s just—That’s very my style. Not yours. I love fashion. Love dressing up and wearing weird or different things. I was basically raised by drag queens. They made me Wolf, and Wolf thrives on spectacle. But you don’t seem comfortable in it. You’re grunge; punk rock—it’s just right for you.”

“That’s not exactly true.” Steve didn’t look at Bucky, just kept looking at the wall. “I saw you at Coney Island. You hated all those eyes on you. I like spectacle, and you don’t. Or at least  _ James  _ doesn’t. You like spectacle on your own terms.”

“I—I never thought of it like that.”

“No one likes to be gawked at, James. Not even me. I’d just rather  _ make  _ them gawk before they do it anyway. It’s…easier.”

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t know what to say. The air was charged and heavy. He could feel Steve fidgeting beside him. He’d clearly said more than he’d intended to. They both had.

“Do you—do you wanna get out of here?” Bucky finally said, turning to Steve. “Put our garbage bags back on and go grab some ice cream?”

Steve’s grin was wolfish when he turned to Bucky. “God, that sounds fucking great. Let’s go.”

____________________________________________

From  _ Triskelion  _ gossip blog

Post: Dairy Queens

Are things heating up or cooling down between glitter-popstar Wolf and punk rocker Steve Rogers? Some would say both after the couple cut their evening at the Met Gala short to go get ice cream. One thing is for sure though. They were the best dressed duo there thanks to fashion twins Wanda and Pietro Maximoff of the House of Wyrd. Sources inside the Met said that “the chemistry between the two was undeniable. They could barely pay attention to anyone besides each other.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, full disclosure: I know nothing about the fashion industry and everything I know about the Met Gala I learned from watching Ocean's 8.
> 
> Basically what I'm saying is that Mollus and I play fast and loose with facts.
> 
> And incase anyone is interested, whenever Wanda speaks 'Sokovian', it's actually Google translate's version of Belorussian.
> 
> Any guesses from you guys what happens next?
> 
> Love you guys,   
> ex oh ex oh  
> The Authors


	11. Chapter 11

As Steve roared up to James’ building on his bike, he thanked God (or whoever was listening) for Tuesday night traffic. Pulling out his phone, he shot James a text to let him know he was outside. 

 

He sighed as he relaxed back on his bike to wait. He snagged his helmet off his head and then reached for the saddlebags, looking for the spare helmet. 

 

How long had it even been since he’d had a second rider?

 

Probably Sharon. Steve winced, and tried to let that thought go. 

 

He caught his reflection in one of the side mirrors, and noticed his hair had gotten pretty squashed from the helmet. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it, scowling as the spikes only became more disarrayed. If the paps caught him like this, they’d have a field day.

 

James’ hair always looked perfect. Maybe he could give Steve some tips. 

 

Steve shook himself and stopped pulling at his hair. It didn’t matter how he looked anyways, it mattered how he  _ acted _ . And tonight, Steve was determined to be on his best behaviour.

 

That last date with James had gone so well. He’d really thought it was going to be a nightmare at first. A sudden social outing he had to go to, wearing something expensive and  _ complicated _ , while needing to pretend to be intimate with someone he barely knew? 

 

He’d almost contemplated jumping off the fire escape of his apartment when Pietro had shown up. Remembering the lengths James had gone to arrange everything for Steve had been the only thing stopping him. 

 

But to his everlasting  surprise, it had actually gone… kind of well?

 

Pietro had taken one look at him and completely taken over. Not only had he been the epitome of professionalism and serious focus, he’d also come up with one of the most interesting clothing ensembles Steve had ever seen. It had to be tailored that day--an experience Steve had been dreading, yet had found shockingly pleasant--to an exact fit, while still allowing him some semblance of comfort from the materials. The cherry on the top of the experience, however, had been the sunglasses. 

 

“Mirrored,” Pietro had said, “And with special coatings to reduce glare and certain kinds of light.”

 

He’d tucked them into Steve’s coat pocket, and come to stand behind him at the mirror. Pietro brushed an imaginary piece of lint off Steve’s shoulder. 

 

“You’re going to blow them out of the water,” he’d said calmly, and then grinned at Steve. 

 

"How did you know to… with the glasses, I mean?" Steve had asked.

 

"James might have mentioned the need for light blocking accessories." The look on Steve’s face caused Pietro to crack a sly smile. "Didn't see that one coming. Did you?"

 

For the first time in Steve’s life, a red carpet event had actually been a breeze. Even if his wrists still ached, and his back still creaked, he hadn't had a six hour migraine after the whole experience.

 

And the rest of the night…

 

Twice, Steve had found himself grinning outright at James as he cracked jokes about some of the other people they’d seen on the red carpet. They’d stayed out until almost 2am.

 

It was the most relaxed he’d been in front of anyone besides the other Commandos, Peggy, or Sam in years. 

 

Staring absentmindedly at the mirror, Steve’s brow creased momentarily. 

 

Did that make them… friends, then?

 

The sudden clank of a door shutting shook Steve from his thoughts. He watched James emerge from a door slightly further along the building and turn his head, looking for Steve. 

 

As always, James looked impressively put together. His hair was in shining coils that drifted down one shoulder. A red paisley jacket sat over what looked like a black silk shirt. High waisted black trousers hovered over red and gold ombre stilettos, and he held a matching gold lamé clutch. The overall effect was a cross between an expensive suit and Cirque-du-Soleil. He practically gleamed in the sunset, and Steve was transfixed.

 

James turned away from him, and Steve swallowed dryly. Those pants sure were… tailored well. 

 

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Steve waved, trying to get James’ attention, trying to banish those kinds of thoughts to the back of his head. 

 

Ogling James probably wasn’t on the list of what constituted behaving well. 

 

James turned his head and spotted Steve. Oddly, he didn’t come over straight away, hesitating for a moment.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow behind his aviators, one hand still held awkwardly in the air. Did James not recognize him, or something...?

 

Whatever James had been caught up with, he clearly seemed to shake it off as he started walking over to Steve, smiling his usual public smile. 

 

Huh. Interesting that he knew the difference between James’ smiles now. When had that happened?

 

“Hey, uh, hey Steve!” James said, coming to a halt in front of the bike. “This is… unexpected, but cool?” His smile shifted to sheepish, but it was his genuine one now.

 

Steve’s brow creased. “I told Peggy to mention I’d be picking you up.”

 

“Oh, she did, she just missed the whole.... Badass motorcycle, uh, thing.” James squirmed a little.

 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Did you want to get a car instead? I could park around back--”

 

“No!” James exclaimed. Steve blinked at him. 

 

“I mean, uh, that won’t be necessary, I’m sure,” James continued hastily. His cheeks were looking kind of pink.

 

“All… right then,” Steve said slowly, looking James up and down carefully. “You feeling OK? You sound a little stressed.”

 

“Nope, nope, totally 100% fine,” James said, waving a hand around. “I am absolutely great and have definitely been on a motorcycle before.”

 

Steve looked at him. “Meaning, I assume, you definitely have not.”

 

James winced. “Possibly not, no.”

 

Steve smiled slightly. “Well, first time for everything, I guess.” He handed over the helmet. “Sorry about your hair.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, though I’d probably have worn different shoes if I’d known,” James replied. 

 

Steve looked at Bucky’s feet, critically. “You should be fine, if they fit well. Normally I’d advise against it, but we aren’t going too far.”

 

“Should I just, uh…” James gestured at the back of the bike.

 

“Yeah, hop on.” Steve shuffled forward slightly to give James more room. “You can put your bag in one of my saddlebags.”

 

Gingerly, James climbed on the back of the bike, pulling the helmet on.

 

“Put your feet on those pegs,” Steve instructed. “You’re going to want to sit pretty straight, but you don’t have to worry about leaning with me, we won’t be going too fast.”

 

“Right,” came James’ muffled voice. He sounded a little strained. Steve chalked it up to nerves. 

 

“Up we go,” Steve continued, pushing the bike upright.

 

James carefully placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders.

 

“You’re going to fall off backwards like that,” he admonished. “Hold on to my waist.”

 

James held still for a moment, almost long enough for Steve to ask if everything was alright when he slid his hands down Steve’s arms and circled them around his waist. 

 

“Good!” Steve said cheerfully. “Ready to rock and roll?”

 

“Uh, yep,” James replied. He still sounded nervous, but they were starting to run late. He’d probably be fine in a moment. 

 

Steve started up the engine, and they roared away down the street. 

 

_________________________________________________________

Steve blinked, and refocused on the moment. 

 

“...yeah, and so that's what I was thinking should be the motivating factor in the presentation of his hero's arc.” Reynolds finished, and stared expectantly at Steve. 

 

Steve blinked. Crap, it looked like he'd actually been asking Steve's opinion. 

 

What had they been talking about again?

 

“I agree  _ completely _ , Ryan,” James cut in, laying a hand on Steve's arm. “Best approach is always a layered one. You're really giving us great things to work with, isn't he, Steve?” He raised a pointed eyebrow in Steve's direction.

 

“Oh yes, of course,” Steve managed. “So helpful.”

 

Reynolds grinned at him. “Trying my best!” he said cheerily. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see a man about a horse, so to speak. See you guys later?”

 

Steve and James said their goodbyes, and Reynolds wandered off. 

 

“Helpful?” James murmured, bringing his gin and tonic up to his mouth and gazing around at the crowded bar. “Good save, Rogers.”

 

“Sue me, I panicked,” Steve grumbled. He sighed. “Thanks for helping me get out of it.”

 

James quirked his mouth up in a tiny smile. “Anytime. You doing ok?”

 

Steve considered. His back wasn't doing too bad yet, but his head was starting to feel a little foggy. Too much noise and simulation, from what he could tell. But still, he’d be good for at least a little longer.

 

“I'm ok,” he replied. “I can hang in there.”

 

James turned to him. “You sure? We've talked to most of the people we need to. We can get out of here if you want.”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow in return. “If  _ I  _ want?” he questioned. “Or if  _ you _ want?”

 

James grimaced for a second, before his public smile slid smoothly back into place. 

 

“Ok,” he said quietly. “There is a slight possibility I'm starting to go small talk crazy. But I don't want to disappoint Shuri…” He took another sip. 

 

Steve looked around the room again, considering. Then he turned back to James.

 

“Follow my lead,” he murmured.

 

“What?”

 

“Trust me?” Steve said.

 

Internally, he winced. He hadn't meant to come across so… ernest. 

 

James gave him an assessing look. He must have found something he liked because he nodded minutely. 

 

Turning, Steve lifted his hand as if to wave across the room, and smacked James’ glass backwards. James fumbled the glass as it splashed all over his jacket, and he gasped in shock. It tumbled to the ground and smashed explosively. 

 

The conversations immediately around them stuttered to a halt as heads whipped in their direction. 

 

Perfect.

 

“Oh… babe, I'm so sorry!” Steve exclaimed, patting his hands all over James’ firm chest. “You ok?” he stared meaningfully at James from under his eyelashes.

 

“Uh, yeah, honey, I'm fine,” James said, finally. “No harm done.” He stared down at Steve, eyes wide.

 

“Good,” Steve replied, still speaking loudly for their audience. “We should get you cleaned up though.” He held out his hand to James.

 

James stared at it.

 

Steve gulped. Shit, was that too much? What would he do if James didn't go with this?

 

James shook his head minutely, and grabbed Steve's hand. 

 

Steve fought not to exhale audibly with relief, and towed James towards the bathrooms. He made sure to smile at people as he went along, grabbing their attention.

 

He also made sure to ignore the uneven flutter in his chest that was produced by holding James’ hand... and the memory of his muscled torso.

 

Steve pulled James through the crowd and then down the small hallway leading off the main bar, bringing them to a halt in front of the handicapped bathroom. He tested the door, and then yanked it open, unceremoniously shoving James inside and pulling the door closed behind them.

 

“Where did that even -- wait, Steve, we can't be in here!” James exclaimed. He looked truly worried now.

 

Steve frowned up at him. “Why not?”

 

“It's the handicapped bathroom, what if someone needs it--”

 

“ _ I know _ ,” Steve stressed, “but we won't be here for long. Two minutes, tops.”

 

James squinted at him. 

 

“Why not?”

 

Steve held up a hand, counting down with his fingers. When he got to zero, he stuck his head out the door.

 

The hallway was empty. Perfect.

 

“Coast is clear,” he said, turning back to James. “Got your bag?” 

 

“Uh, yeah?” 

 

“Alrighty, let's get going then.”

 

Steve led them out into the empty hallway, and proceeded towards a doorway marked “employees only”. He pushed it open, revealing an empty staff room filled with boxes and other detritus. 

 

“Steve!” James whispered harshly. “We can't --”

 

“Listen, just trust me for two more seconds here,” Steve replied, and then quickly turned his head back to the room.

 

That  _ trust  _ word, again.

 

James apparently acquiesced because he fell silent.

 

After a second of scanning, Steve found what he was looking for hidden beside a stack of tables. He led James over to the door hidden in the corner of the room, and popped it open.

 

James gaped at the back alley suddenly revealed to them. He gestured at the street, a silent request for information.

 

“Fire code means they need to have a door in the staff room.” Steve grinned at James. “I’ve played at enough clubs to know the fast ways out. Helpful if you’re trying to dodge the paps, too.” He gestured towards the door.

 

James walked through, Steve following. “What if staff had been in there?”

 

Steve shrugged, pulling the door closed behind him. “Busy night like this, they’d all be on the floor. I've only been stopped twice.”

 

James raised an eyebrow at him. “And what if you'd been stopped this time?”

 

“Then it would have been your turn to make a scene,” Steve sassed, grinning at James.

 

James rolled his eyes, but followed Steve as he made his way down the alley. Turning the corner at the end of the building, they found Steve's bike tucked in a tiny space.

 

“Luck of owning a bike,” Steve said to James’ look, “You can usually find parking.”

 

James helped Steve pull the bike out of the space and they climbed back on. Steve slipped his sunglasses and helmet back on, and turned to pass the other to James.

 

James was looking at his, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“What?” Steve asked, pausing.

 

“Babe?” James asked, smirking.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, his ears reddening under his helmet, and started up the bike.

_____________________________________

 

The drive was short, and Steve found he was kind of disappointed about it. He'd missed having the warmth of an extra body tucked in behind him, and enjoyed having the wind whistle in his ears as always. The growling of the bike and the sharp turns soothed away the last of the agitation produced by the party.

 

It wasn't until after he pulled into the parking space in the garage of his apartment building and shook himself from his daze that reality resurfaced, in the form of James pulling his hands from Steve's waist.

 

“Oh!” Steve turned around. “Sorry, was completely running on autopilot --”

 

“Oh it’s fine, it was a long night --”

 

“I mean I just completely forgot, being on the bike--”

 

“Yeah, it was really--” James cut in. “Uh, it’s a little weird to be having this conversation kinda… wrapped around you.”

 

“Right,” Steve said hurriedly. He shuffled forward to allow James to get up off the bike, and then stood himself.

 

James turned the helmet in his hands. “As I was saying, that was, you know, pretty cool.”

 

Steve blinked at him. “The party we ditched?”

 

James huffed out a laugh, and continued. “Well, not so much that part. Although, good to know you can think on your feet sometimes.”

 

Steve smiled, and rubbed the back of his head. “If it’s to get out of a social situation, then yeah, anytime.”

 

James smiled back. “Well, that, but I was actually thinking the bike rides. That was… fun. Really fun, actually.”

 

“Pretty great, right?” Steve said. “You should try it on the highway. Really feel the wind in your face, just you and the road.”

 

“Sounds awesome. Maybe someday. And in a more practical outfit,” James laughed. He looked down at the helmet in his hands, and then held it out to Steve. 

 

“Anyways, I should get out of your hair, you probably have things to do…”

 

“You want to come up?” Steve impulsively interrupted. “I mean, I don’t actually have anything else going on tonight.”

 

He couldn’t read more from the expression on James’ face, other than surprise. 

 

_ Oh god, he probably had something actually interesting to do tonight _ , Steve thought.  _ An actually fun party or real friends to hang out with. Why would he want to hang out with me? _

 

Just when he was about to take it back, tell James it was fine and he’d call him a cab and they’d see each other next time Shuri and Peggy had plans, James interrupted him. 

 

“I’d love to.” He beamed at Steve, brushing a piece of hair out of his face from where the helmet had mussed it.

 

Steve blinked.

 

“Oh, uh, cool,” he stammered. 

 

They looked at each other.

 

“So, your apartment is upstairs, I assume…?” James asked, raising his eyebrows. “Or are you committing hard to the punk thing by living in a parking garage?”

 

“Right!” Steve said. “Uh, just, follow me…” He turned abruptly towards the stairs, hoping James would follow him.

 

_ Hold it together, Rogers, _ he thought furiously at himself.  _ At least for one evening. _

 

____________________________________________________

 

Steve wandered into the kitchen, throwing the keys in a decorative mug and his jacket over a kitchen chair. 

 

“Make yourself at home and everything,” he called. “Want anything to drink? I got water, tea, coffee, beer…”

 

“Tea would be great, please?” came James’ voice from the living room. 

 

“Sure thing,” Steve replied. He filled up the kettle, and stared at it as he waited for it to boil.

 

God, how long had it been since he’d had anyone besides his inner circle in his apartment?

 

The closest thing he could remember was a pizza guy in his outer hallway, a few months ago. He hadn’t even come inside. Jesus, he really did not know a lot of people apparently. 

 

Turning, Steve went to the cupboard where the mugs were. He pulled out his favourite cloudy blue mug, and after some deliberation, pulled down the purple “smash the patriarchy” mug for James. He set them on the counter next to the kettle.

 

He was pretty content with the few relationships he did have… usually, he mused. He didn’t need to be surrounded by a million people that barely knew anything about him. All he cared about were the few people that knew the real Steve Rogers, who’d made the effort to break past the prickly exterior and find what was underneath. 

 

But it had been a long time since anyone new had tried that. And now it looked like it might be starting to happen with James, which Steve couldn’t have seen coming if he’d owned a crystal ball. 

 

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

 

“You mind if I take off my shoes?” James called from the living room, interrupting Steve’s reverie.

 

“Uh, no. Go ahead,” Steve called back.

 

“Thanks! They’re not the most comfortable shoes I own, and my feet are starting to make that fact known.”

 

The kettle clicked off, and Steve poured the water into the teapot over his favourite blend. He grabbed the milk and sugar, and then, unsure, grabbed honey, lemon juice, brown sugar, and soy milk. He snagged the tray from its hook beside the fridge, and carried the entire thing out to the living room.

 

James was over at the far wall of the living room, taking in Steve’s collection of records. He was moving slowly along the cascading shelves that stretched diagonally across the wall, peering at the titles.

 

“You have the entire discography of Queen?” James asked over his shoulder, flicking through one section.

 

“Listen, I know who I owe my history to,” Steve replied archly, setting the tray down on the coffee table. He poured himself a mug of tea, settling into his favourite winged armchair.

 

James turned, and stopped dead, staring down at the tea tray.

 

“What?” Steve asked, shifting.

 

“I can’t say I pictured you as the full tea set type,” James replied, gesturing at the table.

 

“Then you don’t know Peggy yet,” Steve said, blowing gently on the steam from his mug. “Housewarming gift she gave me when I got my first apartment. Said I couldn’t be microwaving mugs of water anymore and I was insulting her culture.”

 

James came and sat on the sofa next to the table. 

 

“Well, from what I’ve seen of her so far, I know she’s a force to be reckoned with,” he said. He smirked down at the purple mug, and Steve grinned to himself. He poured the tea, and added some honey and lemon. “Where did you two meet?”

 

Steve pulled his legs up onto the armchair, settling in. “Through my friend Sam, in community college. They dated for a month, and then came to a ‘collective agreement’ they were better off as friends.” He air quoted with the hand not wrapped around his mug.

 

“How progressive. Consciously uncoupling before it was cool. And successfully?” James asked dubiously. 

 

Steve snorted. “You don’t know Sam and Peggy. Two of the most logical people I have ever met. After he got out of the Forces, Sam, I swear to god, worked his way through the programs at the college from A to Z so he could be sure he knew what he wanted to do. Thank God “community counselling” was in the ‘C’s. Once he finished that he went right into his B.A and then M.A in Social Work, finished it all in three years.”

 

James grinned. “And Peggy?”

 

Steve smiled at the memory. “She was dead set on bringing out the next big thing, whatever that was going to be. Sam introduced me to her at a party, but I already knew about her -- because it was impossible not to. Almost every person on campus knew her. You’ve met her, spoken with her now a few times, right?”

 

James nodded, leaning back against the sofa. “Spoken at is more accurate, but yes.”

 

Steve propped his mug on his knee. “Yeah, you’ve only seen her at half volume.”

 

“Wait, really?” James’ eyebrows rose. “She’s pretty intimidating. In a good way I mean, obviously, but yeah, one does not fuck with her if they value their life.”

 

“Yeah, that was Peggy going easy on ya,” Steve said. “She knew almost everyone at the college because she was going through the  _ entire student body _ , making a connection in some way with literally every person she met. When we met she already knew how I took my coffee and that I could play double bass.”

 

“You play double bass?” James asked.

 

“Yep. Like I said, string instruments are more my thing.” Steve shrugged.

 

“Huh. We’ll have to try some jazz together sometime,” James replied, sounding pleased. “Anyways, you were talking about Peggy being ruthlessly efficient?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve nodded. He tried to tamp down the warm glow in his chest from James wanting to play with him at some point. “She’s intense. But she knew what she wanted to be doing, and she only ever saw the best in people. There’s two restaurants and a modeling career that owe their start to being around Peggy Carter in community college.”

 

“Wow.” James sat sat back again. “Peggy Carter, force to be reckoned with. Noted.”

 

They sat for a moment in silence, each in their own thoughts, sipping their tea.

 

Steve was suddenly caught up with how much he was enjoying this, how relaxed he was. He was sitting with someone who should be a near stranger, in his own home no less. He should be uncomfortable and wishing for it to end so he could be by himself again. 

 

Instead, he was slowly sinking into his armchair, feeling his shoulders relax down away from his ears and the muscles in his neck releasing their tension. For whatever reason, James wasn't registering as a stranger anymore.

 

Although, the more Steve thought about it, the more he realized that was bullshit.

 

They'd hung out a few times now, just one on one, and Steve  _ knew _ things now. He knew James’ musical influences. Knew how much he liked bad puns. Knew how he took his tea.

 

Who would have guessed that Wolf would end up being a real friend?

 

Musing over this, Steve realized he'd been dead silent for a while. He looked up, about to apologize, when he realized that James was also staring off into space. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve asked, emboldened. 

 

James blinked, and refocused on Steve. 

 

“What?” he said. “Oh sorry, I was off in my own head.”

 

“Yeah, obviously,” Steve said, grinning. “Off doing what?”

 

“Actually, I was thinking about the movie,” James replied. He turned his mug in his hands, obviously still pondering. “Especially the scene on the bridge.”

 

“Oh yeah? With Reynolds and… what's his name.” Steve scrunched his nose, trying to remember.

 

James laughed. “Hemsworth, you mean? How can you not remember him, we talked to him for ten minutes! Plus he's one of the 'Chrises’, everybody knows them.”

 

“Dude. I barely have twitter, how would I know about the Chris thing?” Steve stated baldly.

 

“Doesn't explain how you can't remember the guy's name after having an entire conversation with him,” James snarked. 

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I'll work on it.”

 

“Googling the 'Chrises’, that's your homework for the week.” James joked.

 

Steve snickered. “I'll write that down.”

 

He caught James’ eye as he giggled, and was struck by the look of pure amusement on James’ face. A shitty little grin curled up the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were practically twinkling. Steve felt his stomach give a strange flutter, and he twitched. 

 

_ Focus, Rogers. _

 

Thankfully, it didn't seem like James had noticed his little distraction. 

 

“Yeah, so the scene on the bridge with Reynolds and  _ Chris Hemsworth _ ,” James was saying, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis, “with the light swords and floating star ship in the background.  I was thinking about what that scene means for the narrative arc. You know, the whole “unrequited pining” thing? Heh, Chris Pine-ing… That pun is  _ pure gold _ you’ll appreciate after doing your homework,” James said in response to Steve’s quizzical look. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve said remembering. “With all the glittery effects? And that kinda… desperate look Reynolds was doing?”

 

James snickered. “Yeah, that part.” James turned toward him on the couch, leaning in and bringing his legs up to cross them under himself. “Little heavy handed, maybe, but hey, I’m not an actor. Anyways, that scene just kinda grabbed me. I was thinking it would be a good section to base the song on, and then I started thinking about chord progressions, and then…”

 

“And then you were in the hurricane,” Steve finished, nodding.

 

“Yeah, and then I was -- wait, what?”

 

“That’s what Peggy calls it, when I get super focused on a song and start to ignore the world around me,” Steve said, twirling a finger. “Eye of the hurricane, everything swirling around but perfectly calm centre.”

 

James blinked. “That’s -- oh. Yeah, that’s exactly it. The world disappears.”

 

Steve nodded. “It’s -- it’s my favourite part of songwriting. When you get lost in it and -- yeah.” He flushed, looking down. That had gotten personal real fast.

 

Steve cleared his throat. “So, what kind of progression were you thinking of?”

 

James looked a little thrown by the sudden change, but he nodded. “I was thinking mostly minors -- is there something you wouldn’t mind me borrowing? I think better with an instrument in my hands.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Steve replied. “I’ve got a few guitars and a double bass here, if that works…?” He waved at the wall containing his instruments.

 

“Sounds good. Any of them are ok?” James stood, walking over to them.

 

“Sure, take your pick.” Steve nodded. “I’m going to grab some water. You want some?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Steve made his way into the kitchen and dug out a few glasses and a pitcher, and then detoured to over to the counter and found one of his spare sheet music notebooks and some pens. Turning, he went back into the living room.

 

“I mean I usually just use pen and paper, if that’s --” Steve looked up, and stuttered to a halt.

 

James was comfortably seated on the couch, carefully tuning a guitar. But not any guitar -- Steve’s  _ favourite  _ guitar. The cherry red Seagull he’d bought with the money he’d earned from one of his first gigs, back in college. 

 

He watched how James held it gently in his fingers, strumming softly to get a feel for it. His fingers stretched elegantly across the fretboard, and he was bent over with a look of concentration on his face. A tendril of hair draped itself down his cheekbone, curling gently.

 

That flutter in Steve’s stomach was back. 

 

Before he had time to really contemplate this, James looked up with a raised eyebrow, and Steve remembered he’d been in the middle of a sentence. 

 

He shook himself. “Uh, yeah, I just usually do this old school, if that’s cool…?”

 

James smiled. “I actually usually write on piano, but guitar isn’t a problem. Nice to be a little more hands on.”

 

“What? You aren’t composing on your violin?” Steve managed, sounding less sarcastic than he’d like, his throat still feeling dry. He came over to where James was sitting, and seated himself a careful few inches away from James. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, and then drained it dry.

 

James shot him a look that Steve couldn’t decipher, and picked out a few notes on the guitar.

 

“So, this is what I was thinking…”

  
  
  
  


Excerpt from  _ Star _ Magazine

 

May 8, 2018 

 

REYNOLDS: Yeah, it’s just been fantastic overall. Chris and I are having the time of our lives.

 

STAR: It certainly sounds like it! Now, time for the real questions.

 

REYNOLDS: Little intimidating, but sure! Shoot.

 

STAR: I’m told there’s going to be something pretty special for this sure-to-be blockbuster. A certain in-vogue couple putting their hand in?

 

REYNOLDS: Haha, way to go straight for the good stuff! Yeah, Rogers and Wolf are doing a collab for the soundtrack. Or, ‘Howling Wolf’, I think the kids are calling it?

 

STAR: Does that make me a kid then? I love the name. So, dish then -- what’s it like to work with them? Rogers is famously… antisocial, but I hear Wolf is pretty approachable.

 

REYNOLDS: Well, you can take my word for it -- they’ve been great. They came to the first screening last week and we had an amazing chat about some ideas they’ve got going on.

 

STAR: So, hopes should be high, then?   
  


REYNOLDS: Well, mine certainly are! 

 

STAR: I guess we’ll see if your hopes are founded then - and we’ll know for sure when we see  _ Winter Soldier: Maelstrom _ , premiering August 10th, 2019! 

 

REYNOLDS: Can’t wait!

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter where we get a little meta.
> 
> Fun author fact: during the writing/editing of this chapter we ended up having a text conversation about opening a magical tea shop. We pictured a quaint cottage in a sprawling countryside where I (DowagerEmpress) operate a teashop with enchanted tea sets that floated around and doctor your tea/coffee to your specifications, meanwhile Mollus travels the world and frequently brings back magical tea blends.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! These next couple of chapters are some of my favourites, so there's a good chance I'll be updating more frequently, just because I want to share them.


	12. Chapter 12

It was noon when Bucky finally woke up. A melody floated through his mind and he sleepily hummed to himself before the lingering haze of sleep faded and he remembered why it seemed so familiar. 

It was their song. Or at least the beginnings of it.

He hadn’t left Steve’s until 3am. Both of them had refused to stop until they had the bare bones of the song down.

Bucky shot out of bed and onto his feet in less than five seconds. He stumbled through his apartment towards his piano, mind moving faster than his feet could keep up with.  Sitting down with a thud, his fingers found their way to the keys and he played.

Music filled the room as his fingers moved, but the music didn’t sound quite right to Bucky. No, that wasn’t it. It didn’t  _ feel  _ right to Bucky. The melody was nice enough. But that was just it. It was  _ nice _ . Nothing close to the haunting aria that played through his mind, just beyond his sleep-addled ability to find the damn notes on the piano.

Bucky slammed his hands down on the piano, a cacophonous noise accompanying his guttural sound of frustration. It didn’t help that he’d been writing on a guitar last night. 

Standing, he made his way to the kitchen. Maybe if he had some coffee and fully woke up, his mind and his fingers would finally cooperate with each other.

While he waited for the water to boil, Bucky went back to his bedroom to get dressed. He tossed on a pair of grey sweats and an old black hoodie he still had from highschool. Glancing down at his clothes from last night he sighed, deciding he should ignore his laziness and put them away. As he plucked the jacket off the floor a folded up piece of paper fell out.

Bucky picked up the paper and unfolded it. His eyes widened as he saw the scratched in notes on the bar lines. He’d forgotten that he’d scribbled down what they’d written before he’d left.

The night really had been great. The screening had been fun, even if the party afterwards had been a little draining. He was grateful for Steve’s quick thinking in getting them out of there. A few more minutes and Bucky would have been crawling out of his skin. 

There had been something a bit off with Steve at the beginning of the night, though he’d relaxed once they’d taken off on the bike.

God! That bike. He’d tried to play it off cool, but he couldn’t deny that his first thought upon seeing Steve astride his bike was: “ _ Damn _ , boy could get it.” Maybe he’d been too obvious and that’s why Steve had seemed off. But then he probably wouldn’t have had his hands all over Bucky’s chest at the bar if that was the case.

The kettle whistled, snapping Bucky back to the present. He couldn’t waste time overanalyzing every touch, glance, or word from last night. He needed coffee and he needed to write a damn song.

___________________

**Bucky** 6:30pm: Okay, so I’ve been working on it, and I think I have the piano arrangement worked out. 

**Steve** 6:33pm: Wait what?!

**Bucky** 6:33pm: The song. I’ve been working on it.

___________________

Bucky stared down at his phone, the little icon beneath his message to Steve proclaiming that message had indeed been read. It had been twenty minutes since he’d sent the message and Steve still hadn’t responded.

There was a sudden banging at his door, which caused Bucky to jump. He hurried to the door and opened it to reveal a wind rumpled and very angry looking Steve.

“Steve? What’re—”

“You have some nerve, James!” Steve raged, barging into Bucky’s apartment, slamming the door behind him. His breath was ragged and mottled red splotches bloomed across his face. If looks could kill Bucky would’ve been a dead man. Steve’s shoulders were set high against his ears, and he was holding himself so rigid that it seemed as though he might break.

“What?” Bucky tried again.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he bit out. “We both know you’re not.” Steve advanced on Bucky, crowding him against the door.

“Steve, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky stammered.

That only seemed to piss Steve off more. His eyes grew even wider and his nostrils flared. “You don’t? So you just thought, what exactly? That you’d just write and arrange the song without even consulting me?”

“What? No!” Bucky exclaimed.

“Decided you didn’t need me? Just give you the publicity of this fucking fake relationship and then you’d be all set?”

Now Bucky was pissed. He thought they’d moved past all this bullshit. “What the actual fuck, Steve!” Bucky yelled. “We had a great,  _ collaborative _ , time last night. Where is this coming from?” He pushed himself off the door. Steve moved back a few steps but he held firm. 

“Yeah, it was collaborative. And that’s what I thought this was supposed to be! Us working together. As crazy as that first sounded, I thought that maybe we’d actually be able to do this. But then you go and do the whole damn thing on your own!”

“Did you think I wasn’t going to give any more thought to the song?” Bucky asked, genuinely baffled. “Of course I was going to work on it! I assumed you’d be doing the same thing.”

“Why? We’re supposed to be doing this  _ together _ .” Steve drew out the last word, pointedly.

All the fight drained out of Bucky. He fell back, slumping against the door. “I’m sorry.”

Steve didn’t know what to do with that. Bucky made sure he didn’t laugh as he saw Steve begin to form an angry comeback only to realize what Bucky had said. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to offend you, or devalue your half of this partnership.” He made deliberate eye contact with Steve. “I was excited, and I guess I got a little carried away… in the hurricane.” He smiled tentatively and nudged Steve’s foot with his own.

A slight smile cracked its way onto Steve’s face. The crack grew until the smile cut the whole way across his face and his body started to shake with laughter. Bucky couldn’t help but join in the laughter. They roared until both their knees gave way and they fell to the floor, clinging to each other for support.

When the laughter subsided Steve glanced up at Bucky. “So I—um—there may be a chance that I overreacted a little.” His ears turned ears turned bright pink when Bucky gave him a look that said  _ no shit Sherlock _ . “Ok, I totally overreacted, and I’m sorry too.”

“We’ve really gotta get better at this whole communication thing,” Bucky replied wryly.

Steve hummed in agreement.

They sat silently on the floor in Bucky’s entrance hall for quite some time. Bucky was surprised that he felt so comfortable with Steve tucked up against him. Steve’s small frame fit surprisingly well against his side, and the warmth he gave off was soothing.

“So at the risk of pissing you off again… would you at least like to hear what I’ve come up with?” Bucky tried tentatively.

Steve rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet, offering Bucky his hand and hauling him up after. “Alright, but if —”

“I’ll scrap the whole thing and we’ll start from scratch—scout’s honour.” Bucky raised his hand and crossed his heart. “That’s what I thought we’d be doing anyway. I come up with a concept. You come up with a concept. Then we play them for each other and go from there.”

“Okay, okay, I went a little ‘the world is out to get me’, I get it.”

Bucky led Steve into the living room and over to the couch. “Sit here.” 

Steve sat down on the couch, kicking off his shoes. He shimmied himself around and laid down along the full length of the couch, closing his eyes.

Bucky crossed over to the piano and sat down. “Now, don’t say anything until I’m finished, okay?”

Steve waved a hand dismissively at Bucky. “Okay, okay. Just play.”

His fingers found the keys and he started. The accompaniment started out slow and soft, rolling gently from the piano. Bucky sang, bringing the melody sweeping over the accompaniment. He’d built the accompaniment to act as a partner to the voice rather than doubling the melody. Nothing but the music filled the room as he played. The song built to a crescendo, Bucky pouring longing into every note, and then gradually fading until the song ended in the same soft, almost whisper as it had begun. When he was done Steve was silent.

“So what did you think?” Bucky asked tentatively.

“Play it again,” Steve said calmly from the couch, eyes still closed.

So Bucky did. This time, Steve joined him singing. Their voices blended nicely together, Steve’s rich baritone, the perfect compliment to Bucky’s soaring tenor. Steve added some interesting and unexpected harmonies at the chorus that sent shivers down Bucky’s spine.

“I think,” Steve said when they had finished, “that that is a perfect starting point.” He sat up and smiled at Bucky. “There’s something mesmerizing in the way the accompaniment carries you away as it flows. Kind of like a—”

“Hurricane?” Bucky suggested. 

Steve snorted.

“You gave me the idea last night. These men in the movie… their lives are like a hurricane too. Constant struggle, turmoil and upheaval as they battle their way across the galaxy. Their lives are never their own, constantly pushed and prodded by this Armour organization. But at the center of it all, they have each other, and in that connection they have a moment, however brief, of peace.”

“That is…” Steve paused and chucked a pillow at Bucky’s head, “The gayest thing I have  _ ever  _ heard.” 

“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda the point Steve. Have you even  _ seen  _ one of these movies? Were you paying attention last night?” Bucky quirked his eyebrow at Steve.

“I plead the fifth.”

To say the sigh that Bucky heaved was disparaging would be an understatement. “If one of these two was a woman they would’ve hooked up in the first movie.”

“That bad, huh?”

“They’re  _ painfully  _ homoerotic. Honestly,” Bucky marvelled, “Have you not seen a single  _ Winter Soldier  _ movie?” 

“Nope,” Steve stated baldly. He crossed his ankles.

Bucky gaped at him. “It’s basically the biggest franchise in the world!”

Steve shrugged. “It’s just never really been my thing. Techno-space odyssey isn’t my cup of tea. Now about the song…” he continued, getting up and moving towards the piano.

 Bucky stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Nuh uh.”

Steve glared at him. Bucky just smiled back. After spending so much time with Steve recently, getting to see the softer sides of him, his glares didn’t hold quite the same power as they used to.

“But the song…”

“Can wait,” Bucky finished for him. “We,” he continued, punctuating each word with a light jab, “are having a movie night.”

Steve groaned loudly. “But  _ James…  _ I don’t wanna.”

“Whining really isn’t a good look on you Steve,” Bucky sassed. “For one, I actually think you’d really enjoy these movies if you gave them a chance. They make some pretty compelling social and political arguments, if you look past all the aliens and explosions. Plus,” he continued as he made his way over to the entertainment unit and booted up Netflix, “it’s professionally responsible.”

“‘Professionally responsible’? God, you sound like Peggy.” He turned back around and flopped onto the couch.

“Then I’m in good company,” Bucky fired back. “Seriously though. How do you expect to write this song without understanding how it fits into the story?”

“Okay, okay geez!” Steve finally relented. “I’ll watch the damn movies.”

____________________________

Twenty minutes into the first movie Bucky’s stomach growled loudly. The look Steve shot him was both amused and… concerned?

“Sorry,” Bucky grimaced sheepishly. “I, uh, I may have gotten distracted with the song and neglected to eat anything.”

Steve paused the movie and crossed his arms, frowning at him.

“I had coffee! That counts for something!”

“No, James, it really doesn’t. And you know it’s bad when  _ I’m  _ the one criticizing your eating habits.” Steve rolled his eyes, almost comically. “C’mon, we’re ordering some supper.” He sat up, pulling out his phone and hitting a few buttons before resuming the movie. “Food’ll be here in half an hour,” he said before sinking back and nestling himself once more in the couch cushions.

Bucky still sat up, staring at Steve incredulously. “You didn’t think of maybe asking me what I wanted to eat?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ and didn’t take his eyes from the screen where the Winter Soldier was meeting Agent Scarlet Atwell for the first time.

After another moment of indignant staring Bucky relaxed back next to Steve and let himself get reabsorbed in the movie. He was so engrossed in the Winter Soldier battling through Amphista agents to rescue Agent Atwell that he almost didn’t hear the knock on the door when it came. 

Steve paused the movie again and went to answer the door. Bucky stared after him. He was curious to see what Steve had ordered them.

Steve came back into the room and handed Bucky a bag from his favourite take-out place and placed a drink tray on the coffee table between them. Bucky instantly recognized the smell of their onion lover’s burger and his mouth began to water. He turned to look at Steve, a mixture of wonder and bewilderment on his face.

“Problem?” Steve said through a mouthful of fries.

“It’s just… this is literally my favourite burger in the world.”

“And?”

“How did you know?”

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t. It’s one of my favourite places to order from though.” After a moment of Bucky just staring and blinking at Steve, he added, “Plus when we had our ‘couples counselling’ session, you asked for extra onions.” He shrugged again. “Onion lover’s burger seemed like a safe bet.” Steve laughed. “Suddenly I’m glad for that no kissing clause.”

Bucky was kind of stunned. He numbly brought the burger to his mouth and took a bite. The moan that escaped him would’ve been embarrassing if he hadn’t been so hungry. He reached for the drink on the coffee table and took a sip.

“Mint chip?” Bucky laughed.

“Best flavour, right?” Steve laughed back, clinking their drinks together with a wink. “Now can we get back to the movie? I need to know how the Winter Soldier and the Lieutenant save Agent Atwell, and the entire fucking galaxy.”

____________________________________

“What the fuck!” Steve exclaimed as the credits rolled. “How? I mean—” He let out a frustrated scream as he fell back against the couch shoving a pillow over his face to muffle the sound.

“So I take it you liked it?” Bucky hummed.

Steve whipped around to look at him, a slightly desperate look on his face. “Yes! But -- but how could they  _ do  _ that to them?”

“It’s called building tension.”

“But having the Lieutenant push the Winter Soldier out of the way of the galactic splicer beam, and having him hurled who knows where in the galaxy? How could they do that!?” Steve practically wailed.

Bucky smirked back at him. “You’ll just have to watch the sequel to find out, what happens.”

“Can we?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Bucky chuckled.

“But first can we talk about how the writers clearly want us to believe that the Winter Soldier and Agent Atwell are meant to be together, when they’ve clearly written him and the Lieutenant as more compelling lovers? Not to mention Reynolds and Hemsworth have way more chemistry than Reynolds and Saldana. I mean. I’m just saying.” He shut his mouth with a snap, looking sheepish.

Bucky burst out a full-bellied laugh at that. “You’re preaching to the choir, buddy,” he managed to get out between gasps for air. “Though you saw the one we’re writing for. They’ve finally wised up and are steering into the gay. You think it’s a coincidence that they want a same-sex couple doing the lead single for this movie?”

“Y’know, I hadn’t considered that,” Steve admitted.

A sad smile flashed across Bucky’s face. “The world is a pretty open place now. People are a lot freer than they used to be, but they still can’t out and out confirm that the two male leads are in love. That’s why they do it in subtext, and through symbolic gestures like getting us to write the song.”

Steve frowned, his disappointment carving deep angry lines in his face. “That’s bullshit. They need to have the balls to stand for what they believe in and not just make dumb, subtle, piecemeal,  queer-baiting gestures.”

 “Minimal, subtle representation is better than none at all.” Bucky sighed, deflating back into the couch. “At least we can help start the conversation, and influence the way people think...” Bucky said, but it came out more as a question.

By the look on Steve’s face, Bucky could tell that Steve wanted to argue. Instead, Steve exhaled harshly through his nose and sank back next to Bucky. “Fine, but we’re making this song super gay.”

“Deal,” Bucky said, a small smile finding its way back to his face as nudged Steve with his elbow. “Play the next one. The subtext is  _ way  _ gayer.”

___________________________________

A feeling of relaxed contentment filled Bucky’s chest as he came to. His mind was still foggy with sleep and he resisted the pull towards wakefulness, preferring instead to burrow into the warm weight pressed against his front.  He squeezed his eyes closed tighter against the weak morning light, and pulled the weight closer to him. 

Unfortunately resuming sleep proved to be impossible. As awareness returned to him, he tried to remember why he had woken up on the couch, feeling more rested than he had in quite some time. He couldn’t remember falling asleep. All he remembered was lying down at some point during the beginning of the third  _ Winter Soldier  _ movie.

“You had better be up! You have the photoshoot for your album, and you need to be  _ in  _ the makeup chair in forty-five minutes,” came Shuri’s voice from the foyer. 

Bucky’s eyes shot open hearing the squeak of her sneakers as she made her way towards the living room. The bundle in his arms began to squirm.

“I swear to God, this is how diva rumours start B—” she cut off in surprise as she entered the living room and took in the scene before her. 

Bucky was lying on the couch, now wide awake, with a slowly waking Steve wrapped tightly in his arms. At some point during the night Bucky must have pulled the old flannel blanket off the back of the couch and over them.

Shuri pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before regaining her composure. “As adorable as this is Bu— _ Wolf _ —we have somewhere to be.” Her eyes were practically bugging out of her head.

Bucky was now fully awake, and Steve wasn’t far behind him. They both sat up, hurriedly putting as much distance between them as was possible on the couch.

“Uh, yeah. Just gimme like fifteen minutes?” Bucky pleaded. He desperately needed a shower and to get Steve the hell out of there.

“Alright. GO!” Shuri yelled when Bucky didn’t start moving instantly.

“Shit! Fuck!” Bucky grunted as he made to get up, falling off the couch instead. He let out a wordless sound of frustration as he scrambled to his feet, and hurried off towards the bathroom.

He took the quickest shower of his life, aware that he’d left Steve at the mercy of Shuri. The water had barely had time to warm up by the time he was finished. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a flannel, rolling up the sleeves as he made his way back to the kitchen.

To say that the atmosphere was awkward would be an understatement. Steve sat at the island staring at a cup of coffee as though it contained the secrets of instant teleportation.

“Finally!” Shuri exclaimed when she saw him, throwing up her hands and pulling out her phone to check the time.

Bucky thought he heard her mutter something about ‘pretty-boy white boys’.

“Alright, let’s get going.” She moved to physically start pushing Bucky out the door.

Bucky didn’t budge. “What about Steve?” he asked, gesturing at the smaller man still staring at his coffee. Bucky couldn’t quite decipher the look on Steve’s face.

“I’ve already called him a car. It should be here any minute, but WE,” she gestured emphatically between them, “have to go— _ now _ .”

“Okay, okay, just a second though.” Bucky disappeared back into his bedroom. When he came back he was holding a shirt in his hands. “Here,” he said passing it to Steve. “Something to change into. If you leave here in the exact same thing as last night, the paparazzi will have a field day.”

Steve stared at the garment incredulously. “You expect that anything you own will fit me? It’ll look like I’m a little kid in my dad’s clothes.”

“Believe it or not, Steve, I thought of that,” Bucky replied smugly. “I’m not that much broader than you. The biggest difference is our height. So I figure, one of my crop tops should fit you reasonably well.”

“A  _ crop top _ ?” Steve spluttered.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s the matter Steve? Too  _ girly  _ for you?”

“Okay, point taken.” Steve quickly pulled off his shirt from last night revealing an intricate patchwork of tattoos--Bucky would have loved to see more of those, for the artistry of course--and hauled on the crop top.

Bucky’s mouth went dry as he took in Steve. It wasn’t a perfect fit. The sleeves hung a bit long on him, and it still exposed a bit of his midriff, just barely hiding his bellybutton. He had to quickly look away from the way the shirt highlighted Steve’s hip bones and the tattoos that disappeared beneath his waistband. The look actually suited Steve more than Bucky had anticipated.

Shuri’s voice cut through Bucky’s thoughts. “Okay, now that that’s done with and we’ve avoided ‘Steve Rogers Takes Walk of Shame’ headlines, can we  _ please  _ get a move on!”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said and headed for the door.

“Here,” Steve said quietly from beside Bucky as they made for the elevator. He handed Bucky a travel mug filled with coffee. Bucky took a sip and smiled, a warmth that had nothing to do with the beverage spreading through his chest.

Outside, Bucky waved goodbye to Steve. Once Shuri had trundled Bucky into the car and firmly shut the door behind them, she turned to face Bucky, amused curiosity playing across her face. She made pointed eye contact with him as she hit the button to raise the soundproof partition, ensuring privacy.

“So…” she said leadingly.

“So what?” Bucky stared resolutely at the floor of the car.

“So what happened last night?” Shuri pressed. “You didn’t have a date scheduled and that didn’t look like work on the song.”

“It started as work on the song,” Bucky muttered.

“Mmmhmm, sure looked like it.”

So Bucky told her about the whole thing: working on the song, the texts and the fight that followed, and then the ‘professionally responsible’ movie night.

Shuri only rolled her eyes twice. “What happened to hating him? I believe your exact words were ‘oh, hell no’ when this began. You had a panic attack over working with him and now you’re falling asleep together.”

“He’s not who I thought he was.” Bucky squirmed under Shuri’s gaze. “Can we not talk about this?’

Shuri eyed him critically. “Fine,” she finally relented, but her tone told Bucky that ‘but we’ll talk about this later’ had been left unsaid.

_________________________________

**Steve** 8:55am: So I was brainstorming lyrics on the way home and what do you think about this for the chorus? 

_ So I’ll stand here in the rain, _

_ And I’ll stand here in the wind, _

_ Though the world around me falls, _

_ And I can’t see a way out, _

_ Through the hurt and through the pain, _

_ I’ll find my way to you in the eye… of the hurricane  _

**Bucky** 9:20am: I like it. Something seems a bit off about the ‘see a way out line’ but that might just be because I can’t hear it with the accompaniment.

**Steve** 9:22am: Yeah, I’m not sold on that line either lol

**Steve** 9:45am: I was thinking… what do you think about starting the song acapella?

**Steve** 10:15am: James?

**Bucky** 10:24am: Sorry! Just in the middle of shooting the art for Rooted (my next album). I’ll probably be spotty on the responses, but if you have ideas keep texting me!

 

He  hesitated for a minute before sending another text.

 

**Bucky** 10:25am: Or even if you don’t have any ideas and just want to talk…

**Steve** 10:30am: Lol ok. Thanks for the shirt btw. Surprisingly comfy. You’re gonna have a hard time getting it back from me.

**Bucky** 11:08am: BUT THAT’S MY FAVOURITE CROP TOP!

**Steve** 11:10am: Oh my God, I’m dating a man who has a favourite crop top.

**Bucky** 12:00pm: Y’know I’ve been thinking… with the piano arrangement we’ve kinda got going, I think it might be really amazing if you played double bass for the song instead of guitar.

**Steve** 12:01pm: Hmmm. I dunno

**Bucky** 12:05pm: Just think about it? The song is already such a departure from what either of us do… don’t you think it would be cool to show a different side of ourselves?

 

**Steve** 12:17pm: Well you got me there. I still want that acapella part though.

 

**Bucky** 12:22pm: Sounds like a deal.

___________________________________________

Excerpt from  _ National Enquirer _

“Steve Rogers’ Walk of Shame”

Looks like Howling Commandos’ front man Steve Rogers is getting some. No surprise there though, considering who he’s dating. Rogers, one half of the music industry’s latest power couple, Howling Wolf, was spotted leaving  _ boyfriend _ Wolf’s Brooklyn apartment early this morning. Sources close to the couple tell us that this isn’t the first early morning escape that Rogers has made…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave this here.  
> Please don't hurt us.  
> I mean technically it's gotten physical.  
> And if you think this is bad, y'all can only imagine what mollus has in store next chapter.
> 
> Can anyone guess what movie (beyond the MCU) that the 'Winter Soldier' movies are inspired by?
> 
> xoxo  
> The Authors


	13. Chapter 13

Steve was halfway through teaching Dernier the bridge of a new song when his back pocket buzzed. Checking the time on the studio clock, he nodded to himself.

 

“Take five, guys. Good work.” He gave the group a thumbs up, shifting his guitar to one side. The group relaxed, leaning back into their chairs and reaching for water bottles.

 

Steve slid his phone out of his pocket, thumbing the screen open. A new text message blinked in his notifications.

 

_ J: Why is Pinterest informing me I have a request to be followed by SGRogers?? _

 

Grinning, Steve set the guitar down on a nearby stand and tapped back a reply. 

 

_ Because I have Pinterest. And there was a drawing I thought you’d like. _

 

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for James’ reply and turned his head side to side, popping out some kinks. He grimaced as he felt how tight the muscles in his neck were and brought a hand up to rub at them. He definitely had a date with some muscle relaxants and a hot water bottle in his future. 

 

His phone suddenly started buzzing repeatedly, startling him out of his revery. He looked down at it. “J” was calling.

 

“Be back in a minute,” he told the guys, studiously ignoring the way Gabe leaned over and muttered something in Dum Dum’s ear. He also made sure to ignore Dum Dum’s immediate snort and nod as he left the room. 

 

Steve lifted the phone to his ear as he closed the door to the studio behind him.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Who are you?” James asked. “And what have you done with Steve? You should know, I do  _ not _ bargain with terrorists.”

 

“Ha _ ha _ ,” Steve replied. He leaned back against the wall of the corridor. “I like it. It’s useful for organization. I hazarded a guess that was your account, Mr. ‘SparkleBear.’”

 

“Thank you. And that is possibly the most boring reason to have Pinterest I’ve ever heard. Don’t you want the recipes? The DIY craft projects? The millions of dog pictures?”

 

“I found a photo set of some cool rocks,” Steve said. “They even said where they were from.”

 

“God help me. Whatever. Next time we hang out I’ll show you the right way to use it.”

 

“Sure, sounds good to me,” Steve agreed. 

 

“Ok, now I  _ know _ you’re not Steve. Steve would not let anyone show him the social medias.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m an old grandpa man that hates these newfangled technologies. So sue me.”

 

James chuckled into the phone, and Steve was suddenly glad no one was around to see how the tips of his ears had turned pink.

 

“ _ Anyways _ ,” James continued. “This phone call has derailed. I did call for a reason beyond hassling you about Pinterest.”

 

“Oh, do explain,” Steve said, sliding down to sit on the floor. He wasn’t so famous yet that he was beyond sitting on a floor.

 

“Ok, so.” James started to speak, and then stopped. “There’s -- there’s a thing.”

 

“Ok…?”

 

“A thing that’s, uh, that’s tomorrow.”

 

“Still ok…?”

 

“A thing I want to go to.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, James. I’m getting old here.”

 

James huffed. “Ok, the thing is couples yoga. That I want to go to. And I want you to go to with me. As a couple.”

 

Steve blinked. He opened his mouth and immediately clapped it shut from his initial response, which was  _ why with me _ . He accidentally bit his tongue and winced deeply, almost dropping his phone.

 

“Steve?” James’ voice startled him. 

 

“Still here,” Steve finally managed after a moment. “Uh, ok. Wait, yoga?”

 

“Yeah, I do it a lot. And I have some friends that own a gym, and...” James’ voice tripped along, getting faster and faster. “And the classes are always really fun, and they’ve been trying to get me to go to a session of their couples’ class for  _ ages _ but there was never anyone I tru -- really wanted to go with, and I think it would be fun, if, you know, if we went. Together,” he finished.

 

Steve blinked and said the first thing that came to mind, other than that his breath control was impressive.

 

“Ok.”

 

“Wait, what?” James sounded winded.

 

Steve’s mind was whirling. James wanted to go to something? With just him? Out in public? That wasn’t arranged by Stark?

 

He opened his mouth, and again, it popped right out.

 

“I’ll go with you. To the, uh, couples, uh, class. Thing.”

 

“Oh!” James said, kind of quietly. “Yeah?”

 

Steve paused, thinking furiously. Then he took a breath, and shrugged it all off. 

 

What the hell. Clearly not thinking about it was working.

 

“Yeah, definitely.”

 

____________________________________________

 

Steve spent the rest of the day in a daze, working overtime to not let the guys know there was something going on. Based on the not-even-close-to-subtle elbowing that was going on every time he looked up, he didn’t seem to be succeeding. He stayed in a daze for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

 

Unfortunately, this sense of calm bemusement did not extend to the next day.

 

Steve woke up with a start around 7am, groaning when he leaned over to check his phone. The class wasn’t until 11, and he’d been hoping to be well rested. Unfortunately, his brain did not seem to be keen on letting him sleep.

 

He managed to haul himself out of bed and brewed a pot of herbal tea, hoping to at least be able to relax slightly. For the love of god, it was just an exercise class, not a damn candlelit dinner (again). He had nothing to be worried about. It was just James.

 

Steve stared into his cup for a few moments, then he abruptly detoured back to his bedroom and threw open the closet doors. 

 

What the hell did you even wear to yoga, anyway?

 

By 8am he’d finally narrowed down his outfit to some comfortable basketball shorts, an old t-shirt, and a zipped up hoodie. He wavered for a few moments, wondering if he’d need to be somehow fashionable, and then came to the resolute conclusion that if this was the kind of class you had to be fashionable for then the instructors could deal. He left the gel out of his hair for once, remembering how gross it felt to have sweat mix with hair products. His fringe flopped loosely over his forehead in a way it hadn’t in a long time, which Steve decided not to think about.

 

Unfortunately, this only brought him to about 8:30, meaning he had an hour until he could reasonably leave to get to the address James had texted him. He tried to pick up his notebook and work on some songs, but all his inner voice provided him was a long and sustained scream of anxiety, so he quickly put it back down. In the end, he settled on a documentary about fonts, which was suitably boring enough to at least bring the internal scream down to a nervous mutter.

 

He was out the door in his battered chucks and in a cab by 9:45, unnerved enough to not trust the subway and his own ability to be on time. He was outside the brown concrete building and sitting on a bench under a tree by 10:15. Which left him time to contemplate his life choices until James arrived. 

 

Ok, so he and James were friends now. Right? This is what friends did, Steve told himself. Friends invited their friends to events they wanted to go to, where they thought they would enjoy themselves. Where they could have fun together. And James had thought of Steve specifically, and what he might think would be fun. 

 

Steve’s mind flashed back to the last time they had hung out and what had come from that. The thing that Steve had been studiously not thinking about, because being friendly did not generally include snuggling. That thing.

 

That thing where James had wrapped him up in his arms like he was meant to fit there.

 

That thing.

 

Steve closed his eyes and started counting to twenty. They were  _ friends _ now, and friends did not ruminate on how warm their friend’s arms felt.

 

“Steve?” James’ voice seemed to pop straight out of Steve’s memories, and he came abruptly back to the present, his eyes snapping open.

 

James was standing in front of Steve, his face skewed with concern. His hair was up in a bun and he had a distinct lack of makeup on. To Steve’s distracted relief, James was dressed similarly to him, wearing purple leggings with a black hoodie zipped over a grey tank top. He was drumming his fingers against the strap of an oblong bag he’d hefted over one shoulder while his eyes darted between Steve and the door. Steve realized he’d been outright staring for several moments too long.

 

“Uh--yes,” Steve managed. “I made it.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the building.

 

“I can see that,” James replied. “You, uh, you still want to do this? You look a little… strained.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said, and then winced when he realized how curt it came out. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Ok, maybe a little. But that’s what the yoga is for, right?” He tried for joking, but it came out flat.

 

James came to sit beside him, tucking the bag beside him on the bench. “Are you nervous about doing the class? I know you don’t have great mobility sometimes…”

 

Christ, Steve hadn’t even thought about that. But hey, he’d take an escape if it was presented. 

 

“Yeah, a bit.” He turned to look at James, shrugging a shoulder.

 

“I thought about that,” James said. “When Clint asked me if I was finally joining this time. I asked about if it would be too hard on someone with fibromyalgia.” James’ eyes went wide suddenly. “Not that, I mean, not that I mentioned you specifically, without your permission, I wouldn’t --”

 

“It’s ok,” Steve cut him off. “I know you wouldn’t talk about me without asking first. And uh, thanks. You know. For asking about it.”

 

“No problem.” James looked down at his hands.

 

Oh God, this was going to be unbearable if they were pussyfooting around each other the entire time. Steve shook himself a little and tried to relax.

 

“So what did he say about it?” He tried to meet James’ eye.

 

James looked up, his shoulders easing slightly and the beginnings of smile forming on his lips. “He said it wasn’t the first time they’d had to be mindful about something like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. Actually, he had some pretty encouraging things to say about the benefits it could have for some of your symptoms.”

 

“Oh, really?” Steve asked, interested. “I mean I do some basic stretching to encourage flexibility, but…”

 

“Yeah, that’s why I thought of this in the first place. But he had some other ideas--you know what, why don’t we head in. Class is going to start sooner rather than later, and Clint can explain it better than I can.” James stood, tossing the bag back over his shoulder.

 

Steve nodded and got back to his feet. He followed James into the building and then up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Down a hallway and on the left was a glass paneled door with a sign reading “True Flight Yoga”. 

 

James pushed open the door and Steve found himself in a small reception room with light blue walls, scented faintly with lemongrass. A dark haired woman sat behind the desk; James waved as he went past.

 

“Don’t I need to sign in or anything?” Steve muttered to James as he followed him down another hallway. At James’ gesture, he took off his shoes and left them in a cubby beside the door.

 

“Nope, booked it in advance. Plus, they know me,” James said, pushing open another door. 

 

Steve followed James into a larger room with walls painted a pastel pink and light wooden floors. One entire wall was taken up with giant mirrors and another was entirely huge picture windows which let in the spring sunshine. It was clean and bright, and smelled like eucalyptus. Two men were already inside rolling out mats and setting up small foam cubes next to each. 

 

One of the men glanced up as they entered. He appeared to be slightly older than James and Steve, possibly in his mid forties. Despite this, he was obviously very fit, and twinkling blue eyes lit up when he recognized James.

 

“James! We finally coaxed you out beyond your regular class!” the man said with a smile. He leaned over and nudged the other man who looked up. He noticed James and smiled as well, and then reached up and tapped something in his ears--hearing aids, Steve realized. 

 

“Lies and slander!” James replied, grinning back. “I do so come to more than my regular class.” Steve noticed immediately that this smile reached his eyes. So, James trusted these people enough to skip the publicity smile. He felt his shoulders relax slightly.

 

“Fine, then we finally convinced you to join us for  _ this class _ , in particular. Or something did?” the first man continued pointedly, now turning his gaze to Steve. There was a lot of intelligence in those blue eyes and Steve froze momentarily. 

 

“Hey, I take full credit for this idea,” James protested. “Steve was just a willing accomplice.”

 

“Hey, we’re just calling it like we see it,” the second man laughed. He was just as fit as the first man, if not more so. His hair was the colour of wheat and sunshine, and something about the snark in his tone made Steve like him immediately. The man turned to Steve and held out a hand. “I’m Clint Barton.”

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, shaking Clint’s hand. 

 

“Ah-ha!” the first man exclaimed. “So we finally get to meet the elusive boyfriend! ”

 

“Hey, it wasn’t like I was hiding it, or anything,” James said, flushing. Steve bit his lip to keep from smirking.

 

“Are you kidding me?” the man said. “I’m excited to meet your boyfriend, but mostly I’m happy to meet Steve Rogers.  _ War Songs _ was great.”

 

“Maybe you should introduce yourself  _ before _ you start gushing, hon,” Clint interrupted, rolling his eyes.

 

“I was getting there before you interrupted me,” the man replied with dignity. “Phil Coulson. It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

 

Steve took it, smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, and thank you.”

 

“Ugh, he’s going to talk about this all week--ow!” Clint rubbed his side where Phil had elbowed him.

 

Steve found himself smiling at them. They seemed like genuinely nice people, and James clearly liked being around them. 

 

The door behind them opened again and a few more people entered, including a fierce-looking black woman and another with a shock of bright red hair.

 

“Nat!” James exclaimed, heading right over and leaving Steve with Clint and Phil.

 

“Glad to know Jay still has his social butterfly thing going on,” Clint remarked. Steve blinked for a second over the name, and then chuckled. 

 

“He’s got a knack for it,” he replied dryly. “Definitely more than me.”

 

“More than most,” Clint said. “I like being an antisocial old man, it works for me. Right, babe?” He looked at Phil, batting his eyelashes. Phil rolled his eyes while Steve hid a smile.

 

“ _ Anyways _ ,” Phil said, “Jay mentioned the person he was bringing had fibromyalgia, which I presume is you? If you’re ok with talking about it.”

 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I thought it might come up here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do everything…” he hesitated. 

 

“Not a problem,” Phil said firmly. “Like we told Jay, we have students with all different levels of ability, and the point is that everyone gets a workout, not just the people that can do the most impressive poses.”

 

“Exactly,” Clint said. “And hey, hopefully you’ll be surprised by how much you like it. That’s the goal, anyway.” He looked up at the clock on the far wall. “For the love of God, I know he runs on ‘icelandic time’ or whatever, but it’s almost--”

 

The door behind them flew open and one of the largest men Steve had ever seen whirled into the room carrying a bag and a bottle of water. He rippled with muscles, and his long blond hair fluttered behind him.

 

“Hello, my friends!” he near-bellowed, with a strong northern European accent. “Welcome! Such a nice day we are having! Shall we begin?” He tossed his bag down next to the door, and gestured grandly at the floor with the mats laid out. 

 

Steve was a little thrown, but the other people in the class seemed to expect this. They started moving towards the mats in groups of two.

 

“And there’s Thor,” Phil said. “See? Right on time.”

 

Clint turned to Steve. “We’re the demonstrators, so we’ll be up front. But I’ll catch you at the end, if you have time.”

 

Steve nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Clint and Phil moved off, going over to where Thor was attempting to plug his phone into a speaker.

 

Steve wandered over to where James was sitting on his mat and settled down beside him. He glanced over at James and saw his cheeks were slightly red.

 

“Everything ok?” he whispered, leaning towards him slightly.

 

“Uh, yep, totally fine. No problems here,” James rambled, waving a hand slightly, and then shutting his mouth with a snap.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow, but turned towards the front as acoustic music began to play softly from the speaker. 

 

_ If you change your mind _

_ I’m the first in line _

_ Honey I’m still free _

_ Take a chance on me _

 

Steve turned slowly back to James, who snickered and gestured for him to face the front.

 

Thor turned to face the class, cheery smile still in place.

 

“Welcome to our couples class!” he pronounced. “I see both old faces and new faces here today--a fine mix! For my new friends who do not know me yet, I am Thor, and I shall be your instructor today. Where this is a pairs class, we have my excellent bosses Clint and Phil as demonstrators. Please watch them for examples of the poses; I shall be walking among you to offer guidance and advice, should you request it.”

 

Thor gestured to Clint and Phil. Phil waved, and Clint gave a small salute which made Steve hide a smile.

 

“As always,” Thor continued. “Before we begin, I encourage you to move to the best of your ability, to challenge yourself and enjoy yourselves, but to please not force yourself beyond what is good for you. We are in this space to honour ourselves and our bodies, to embrace our physicality--not to hurt ourselves. There are always alternative motions and we will be happy to demonstrate these as well.” 

 

He paused for a moment, seeming to want this to sink in. Steve glanced at James who met his eye and nodded deliberately. Steve released a breath, relaxing minutely. It was starting to sound more and more like this would be something he could accomplish.

 

“Now, my friends.” Thor lifted his hands outward, and stepped back to his mat. He took a seated posture, crossing his ankles and resting his hands on his knees. “I invite you to close your eyes, as to your comfort, and we shall begin.”

 

Steve snuck a glance sideways at James to find him in the same posture, already with his eyes closed. He hurried to do the same.

 

Thor began to talk them through a series of breathing exercises, getting them to focus on straightening their backs and relaxing into their seats. Steve followed, occasionally trying not to snicker as Thor spoke of “uniting his inner emotions” and “finding his centre”. So sue him, he’d never really been one for hippie shit. 

 

They smoothly began transitioning into some standing poses, leaning side to side to stretch their sides and rolling their shoulders and ankles. So far, so good, Steve thought, following along. Nothing was pushing any of his joints too hard, and nobody was staring. He got a particularly good  _ crack _ out of his neck when he rolled it side to side and caught James grinning at him out of the corner of his eye. He rolled his eyes at him and pointedly cracked his wrists.

 

Bringing them standing into something Thor called “mountain pose”, which Steve thought of more as “stand still with your arms open and your eyes closed and try not to think of lunch”, Thor cleared his throat, gathering the class’ attention. 

 

“An excellent warm up, my friends!” he announced. “Now it is time to begin the real experience.” He gestured at Phil and Clint, who dragged their mats to the front and stood next to Thor. The rest of the people in the class started nudging their mats closer together.

 

Steve gulped quietly. Now for the actual challenge.

 

He turned to look at James to find him tugging off his hoodie and placing it on the floor next to his mat. James turned back to Steve.

 

“You’re going to want to ditch your sweatshirt,” he murmured. “Extra bulk gets in the way.”

 

“Right,” Steve muttered back. He totally hadn’t been caught up staring at James’ bare arms. No way. He yanked his hoodie over his head, hoping it would cover his traitorously red ears for at least a second, and tossed it on the ground next to him. 

 

He straightened to find James looking at him, his head slightly cocked. 

 

“What?” he said, feeling self conscious.

 

“I just, uh,” James stuttered, “It occurred to me I’ve never seen you wear so few layers. Or have your hair down.”

 

“Be kinda dumb to wrap myself up or do my hair for an exercise class, wouldn’t it?” Steve commented, confused. 

 

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s just…” James continued, and then stopped. He bent over at the waist and started dragging his mat closer to Steve’s. “It’s a good look. Too, I mean. Besides your regular style.”

 

Steve blinked at him. “Oh. Thanks?”

 

“You’re welcome,” James replied, standing straight next to Steve again.

 

At the front of the class, Thor was monologing about making sure to check in with their partners and focusing on their intent, but Steve wasn’t listening. 

 

Had James just… said he liked how Steve looked with less clothes on?

 

“And now!” Thor exclaimed, throwing his hands wide. “We shall start with some basic mirror poses! Clint, Phil, if you are ready? Most excellent! Let us begin at the beginning, in child’s pose.”

 

Steve quickly threw out his previous train of thought to concentrate on the next series of movements. 

 

They began curled up into small balls facing each other, rolling their shoulders forward. After the standing Steve had been doing, it felt good to curl up. They then moved through a series of more poses, face to face each time. They angled their knees side to side, twisted their torsos, extended their legs in complicated maneuvers. Steve appreciated that James seemed to know the names of the different poses and focused on following his smooth movements. 

 

He absolutely did not spend moments at a time caught up watching James’ body sway. Watching the muscles in his arms flex and his torso twist and bend. 

 

Absolutely not. 

 

James, thankfully, seemed oblivious. Steve was impressed at how exact his concentration was, his eyes mostly focused somewhere over Steve’s shoulder, a fine red glow to his cheeks. Once in a while, however, he caught James’ eye and they grinned at each other. When Steve realized a soft cover of “Waterloo” was playing over the speakers, he found himself trying not to choke on giggles and was gratified to see James also smiling at the music choice.

 

Steve found himself enjoying himself more and more. When they worked themselves into that classic yoga pose that had something to do with dogs, he actually felt his spine pop and release in a way it hadn’t in days. If he let out a small moan when it did, well, he assumed no one here would judge him for it. 

 

They straightened, and Thor opened his arms again. “Well done, my friends! We shall now progress to the most interesting portion of the class. Let us begin with an intent in mind: to focus on true communication with our partners, communication that extends beyond word and sound.”

 

Steve looked at James out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow. James looked back and shrugged minutely.

 

“Phil and Clint shall demonstrate our first couples pose,” Thor continued. He waved a hand at the duo who nodded back.

 

Clint caught Steve’s eye for a millisecond and flashed him a wink so subtle he almost missed it. 

 

Steve only had a moment to be confused, until the meaning became abundantly clear.

 

Clint sat on the floor, opening his legs wide and reaching out his hands. Phil sat in front of him, stretched out his legs as wide so the soles of their feet met, and reached forward to grasp his wrists. Clint wrapped his hands around Phil’s.

 

“Excellent!” Thor proclaimed. “You will use your partner’s strength to push and pull, creating a dynamic motion for the spine. This shall mirror how our relationships are strongest when they can move--rigidity leads to failure.” 

 

Clint leaned back, tugging Phil forward into a fold. After a moment, Phil leaned back, and Clint did the same. 

 

“Please begin!” Thor announced. The couples around them started taking seats on their mats.

 

Steve looked at James with panic. There was no way that a) his legs went that wide or b) his spine could put up with all that.

 

James met his eye and stepped a half foot closer.

“You do what is ok for you, and I’ll follow your lead, alright? I promise,” he murmured, eyes 

wide.

 

Steve breathed deeply and nodded. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

 

Seating themselves on the floor, Steve carefully opened up his legs as wide as he could comfortably manage. He looked around; it was nowhere near as wide as most of the couples around him. He looked back at James.

 

James was watching him, face open and relaxed. He nodded at Steve, stretched his legs out to mirror Steve’s, and held out his hands.

 

Steve nodded back and slowly reached forward to grasp his wrists. James wrapped his hands around Steves’ own wrists. 

 

Steve waited a moment. His back seemed alright.

 

“Steve,” James whispered. “Maybe I’ll squeeze when it’s far enough for me, ok? And you do the same.”

 

Steve shot him a relieved smile. “Sounds good,” he whispered back.

 

Steve slowly started to pull James into the backbend. After a moment, James squeezed his wrist briefly, and Steve stopped immediately. They straightened. James looked up, and nodded at him. 

 

Ok. Steve could do this. 

 

He let James pull him carefully forward, focusing on his back and his legs. When the pressure started to get to him, he quickly squeezed James’ wrists.

 

True to his word, James stopped immediately, and Steve eased back up. 

 

Well, that was ok. Steve nodded, and they started the process again. 

 

After a few minutes, he felt the ache in his thighs and back start to gradually lessen and he was able to focus more on the push and pull between them. He started to drift slightly, lost in the gentle motion and the feeling of James’ hands wrapped securely around him. 

 

“Good work everyone!” Thor’s booming voice startled Steve out of his revery and he refocused on the room around him. “Let us move on to our next challenge.”

 

Gently, James released Steve’s wrists and Steve did the same. 

 

He tried not to miss the feeling as they turned back to the front for the next instructions.

 

The next pose found them facing away from each other, leaning back to back. One partner would lean forward at a time, with the result of the other partner ending up draped across their back, their arms by their sides.

 

Steve couldn’t help but snicker a little as James leaned forward; he felt the reverberations of James’ answering chuckle through his back. It was a very dramatic pose.

 

“Remember not to collapse on your partner! Keep your abs engaged!” Thor called from the front of the class, and Steve worked to contain his smile.

 

But they kept going, and Steve stopped laughing. 

 

Thor had them stand behind their partners, fronts pressed to the length of their partner’s backs. He instructed them to wrap their arms around their partner’s waists and alternatively their limbs. He then led them through a series of poses, standing on their toes and leaning side to side and twisting and turning. 

 

Steve found himself plastered against James’ slightly sweaty back, his face buried in the tendrils of hair escaping his bun. They moved slowly from pose to pose, Steve’s hands sliding along James’ body, from his arms to his waist and across his belly. His feet moved along the floor beside James’, bracing against a knee on the outside of a calf.

 

And, oh. He could smell James’ skin, the sweet smell of his hair. Felt the ripple of his muscles under his palm, the quiet intake of his breath. 

 

Steve thought furiously of dead kittens, his grade school gym teacher, and his Aunt Mary. 

 

And then they switched places, and it was somehow even worse.

 

Because James was wrapped all around him. He was just tall enough to be able to rest his chin on Steve’s head. He didn’t tower over him, but he did easily cover the length of him.

 

Steve lost himself. In the gentle brush of skin against skin, the heat of another body covering him. Felt anchored by James’ strength as he supported him through the balance heavy poses, firm and solid. And then dizzy with the contrast of the gentleness of how he folded himself around Steve, letting him sink into James’ body. He could feel James’ heartbeat thudding surely against his back.

 

They changed to more balance heavy poses, facing each other and then away again. Legs entwined and arms embraced. The sounds of the studio started to fall away, and Steve was only dimly aware of Thor’s quiet instructions, which seem to come from somewhere far away. 

 

Why should he pay attention to anyone else, when he could so easily mark James’ every exhalation? Every minute sound of concentration, of exhortation? 

 

He floated, and his mind unerringly zeroed in on the exact period he’d been avoiding since last he saw James.

 

God, to wake up in those arms.

 

He’d felt so safe, so comfortable. It had been so long since he’d fallen asleep with another person, and even longer since he’d woken up with them still there.

 

He’d jumped away when Shuri came in and startled them. Pushed back and pretended it was an accident, pulled up his walls and retreated.

 

What James didn’t know was that he’d actually woken at daybreak, when the first glowing bars of light had peeked through the curtains. He’d blinked into awareness close enough to count every miniscule mark on James’ cheeks. The sunrise had glinted on every one of his dark eyelashes, lit its way across his smooth brow and down his slim nose, glinting off the seemingly perpetual flakes of old glitter that clung to his skin.

 

It hadn’t been a conscious decision, in that moment, to go back to sleep. More of a surrender. 

 

James’ hand glided up his hip, and Steve felt that surrender again. 

 

His head dropped back against James’ shoulder with a sigh, and he felt James take a sudden breath, his lips in line with Steve’s ear. His hands settled on Steve’s waist, and Steve’s eyes drifted closed.

 

They stayed quiet like that for one breathe, two, and then --

 

“Excellent work, my friends,” came Thor’s voice from the front, uncharacteristically quiet. “We shall move to our  _ shavasana _ .”

 

The warmth against Steve’s back moved away, and his eyes fluttered open, momentarily thrown. “Wha…”

 

“It’s the cool down,” came James’ voice to his right. Steve looked over to find James picking up his hoodie, facing away from Steve. “You’ll want your sweater back probably.”

 

“R-right,” Steve managed, turning to pick up his own sweatshirt. And realizing the exact state of his pants.

 

Christ almighty, you could pitch a fucking tent with his dick.

 

Steve’s face flamed. God, this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid! He plopped hurridley down on his mat, bringing his knees up and together, and started desperately thinking of his Aunt Mary’s feet again.

 

Any more of this, he thought, and even that’s not going to do it. 

 

He listened haphazardly as Thor directed them to lie down on their mats, any way that felt comfortable. He quickly flipped onto his side, facing away from James and closing his eyes.

 

Thor led them through something that seemed like a guided meditation, getting them to relax each part of their body one muscle group at a time. Steve forced himself to focus on every word, trying to drag his traitorous mind away from what it  _ very much  _ wanted to dwell on. He was successful enough that everything had calmed down by the time Thor brought them to the end of the session. 

 

“I’m just going to say goodbye to Nat before we go, ok?” James said as they sat up. He looked quickly at Steve, and then away.

 

“Uh, sure thing,” Steve managed. James bounced up, heading back towards the red headed woman. Steve blinked, watching his retreating back. 

 

Was James…?

 

Before he could follow that train of thought, a voice broke in.

 

“So, what did you think?”

 

Steve turned to find Clint standing behind him, adjusting his hearing aid.

 

“Oh, uh,” Steve stuttered, clumsily getting to his feet after lying down for so long. He stumbled slightly. “It was really, it was was, uh--”

 

Clint caught a hold of his upper arm and righted him, grinning. “Yeah, we get that a lot. So, how long have you been seeing James? If you don’t mind me asking. He’s my friend, so…” he rubbed the back of his neck. 

 

“No, it’s cool,” Steve replied, getting his bearings. “It’s still… pretty new,” he settled on, after a pause. 

 

When did Peggy say they’d started dating again?

 

“Oh yeah, I could tell,” Clint said, nonchalant. 

 

Steve ground to a halt. “What?”

 

“You look like you still have some things to work out together. Your body language says this is a recent development. And that… maybe there’s something you’re keeping from each other?” He raised his brows at Steve.

 

Steve gaped. “You can… tell all that from body language?”

 

Clint laughed. “Well, it’s my job to know the body. And… I’ve been there.” He shrugged. “Where I was nervous to tell someone exactly how much they meant to me. Took me about 5 years longer than it should have.” 

 

Clint’s eyes drifted over to where Phil was rolling up some mats, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Phil looked up and shot him a wink.

 

“But hey!” Clint announced, clapping Steve on his shoulder. “You’ll work it out long before we did. You guys have  _ way _ too much chemistry to take that long.”

 

With that, he shot a dumbfounded Steve a final grin, and wandered off to talk to some of the others in the class.

 

Steve stared after him and almost jumped a foot in the air when James appeared beside him.

 

“You ready?” he asked.

 

“Ready… ready for what?” Steve stammered at him.

 

James’ brow creased. “Ready to go?” He hefted his mat over his shoulder.

 

“Oh, sure!” Damnit, his voice still sounded squeaky. He coughed to clear his throat and headed for the door. James followed.

 

“Everything ok?” he asked as they headed down the stairs.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Steve replied. “Just, you know… tired.” That was plausible, wasn’t it?

 

“... Ok then,” James said dubiously. “Did you like it?”  He pushed open the door to the street.

 

Steve considered the question. His back felt more relaxed than it had in months, definitely. And for once his head didn’t ache, his eyes weren’t tired, and he actually felt… refreshed?

 

“Yeah, actually,” he responded, as they came to a stop in front of the bench James had found him on earlier. “Yeah, a lot.”

 

He looked at James, and then back to the street, watching the cars. “It was really fun. And. Intense.” He caught James’ eye as he said it.

 

James cheeks pinked slightly, and he brushed a tendril of hair away from his neck. Steve tracked the motion with his eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he said slowly, meeting James’ eyes again. “I enjoyed myself.”

 

Now there was  _ definitely  _ a tinge to James’ cheeks.

 

No way for Steve to tamp down how much he liked that.

 

“That’s… that’s great,” James said, breaking the eye contact. He coughed. “I usually get a smoothie afterwards, if you want to join…?”

 

Steve grinned at him, feeling inexplicably pleased with himself. “Oh man, let me guess. It’s one of those boutique, hand mixed ‘fruit cocktails’, with super fruits and elixirs all smashed into it…”

 

“It is  _ not _ !” James actually looked slightly insulted. He managed to hold the look for a moment before relenting.

 

“Alright, maybe my favourite has  _ two _ superfruits in it but  _ still _ …” He started marching down the street.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, laughed, and followed him. 

_________________________________________

 

Caption on image post from Tumblr blog @howlingwolfunofficial

 

[Image Description: A selfie of @howlingwolfunofficial and Steve Rogers. Rogers is wearing a hoodie and has his hair down. They both hold smoothies and are smiling.]

 

howlingwolfunofficial: You guys!! Ok so you know I have a STRICT RULE of not making things supes awks with celebrities just #livingtheirlives, but they came right into MY VERY OWN WORK and I just couldn’t help myself. I just told Rogers how much I liked  _ Dropkick the President _ and he straight up offered to take a photo with me! GUYS I WANTED TO DIE. And then I DIED HARDER, because who the fuck does he give his phone to but uh WOLF?? IN THE FLESH and looking finer than ever JESUS MY HEART. SO FULL. Anyways they were both so nice and so polite and y’all are invited to my funeral because I can die happy now, kthxbyeeeee

 

#howlingwolf #couplegoals #howlingcommando #wolf #adorable #hot #smoothie #idealdate #dead #icant #icandiehappy #daddy #selfie 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else need a cigarette after that? Mollus makes me want to sign up for a couples yoga class if it's anything like that.
> 
> Things are certainly heating up between Steve and Bucky. Bucky is learning to be more open, Steve is learning to be more... flexible. They're becoming such good friends. Right? That's what they are. Friends.
> 
> Just keep telling yourselves that, boys.
> 
> xoxo  
> The Authors


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky sat bolt upright in bed, room spinning and heart pounding, while somewhere to his left his text tone blared at full volume. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he fumbled around for his phone, the blinking blue light indicating an unread text the only thing emitting any light.

Pain flared behind Bucky’s eyes as his screen lit up. Exhaustion from a full day in dance classes pulled at every limb in his body as the adrenaline that the sudden wake up had flooded him with faded. He squinted at the phone, fumbling with clumsy fingers to turn down the brightness. The text that had awoken him was from Steve. 

A small smile flickered across his face, winning out over the annoyance of being woken up at… 3am!

“This better be fuckin’ important,” he said to the empty room.

**Steve 3:03am.:** U up?

Bucky flopped back onto his pillows, something between a groan and a laugh wrenched out of him by the message.

**Bucky 3:05am:** Yeah, and my parents aren’t home either.

**Steve 3:05am:** ???

It figured that Steve wouldn’t know what a ‘u up’ text meant. Bucky rolled his eyes and debated illuminating him, but decided that it was not a conversation he wanted to get into right at the moment. Really, he didn’t want to think too hard about the idea of Steve and him and anything being ‘up’. The yoga class had been amazing, but also, confusing.

**Bucky 3:07am:** Nvm. What’s up?

**Steve 3:07am:** Just landed in LA. 

**Steve 3:07am:** Can’t sleep. 

**Steve 3:07am:** Flying is murder on my joints.

**Steve 3:08am:** Ellen is not gonna be fun tomorrow. 

**Steve 3:08am:** Fuck I hate talk shows. 

**Steve 3:08am:** What’s up with u? And what did you mean by ‘my parents aren’t home’?

A flash of panicked regret shot through Bucky. Why did he have to say that? He flopped a pillow down across his face, hiding the accusing words on his phone screen. He had a dim hope that it’d suffocate him and he wouldn’t have to answer Steve.

**Bucky 3:09am:** It’s nothing Steve. Don’t worry about it. And I was asleep until you texted. It’s 3am here.

**Steve: 3:09am:** Oh FUCK, I’M SORRY! Totally forgot about time zones and that regular sleep schedules are a thing for some people.

**Bucky 3:09am:** S’okay. Don’t have anything tomorrow, so I can be tired.

This wasn’t entirely true. Wolf didn’t have anything tomorrow.  _ Bucky  _ however, had to be up at five o’clock.

**Steve 3:10am:** Still… sorry. But srsly, what did you mean?

Bucky let out a scream of frustration into the silent room. Why was Steve like this? He was a dog with a bone. Sighing deeply, Bucky typed out the humiliating reply, knowing Steve wasn’t about to let this go and that he might as well get it over with. He kept the pillow over his face, hiding his shame.

**Bucky 3:10am:** It was a joke Steve. Based on the idea that we’re teenagers hooking up and we don’t have our own place to do it. Cause that’s generally what a ‘u up’ text means. That the one sending it is drunk and horny and texting their best bet for a booty call.

There was no immediate reply. Minutes crept by as Bucky anxiously stared at the phone screen. Sleep called to him and his eyes drooped heavily. He’d almost fallen asleep when the screen lit up again.

**Steve 3:15am:** Oh… I did not know that.

**Steve 3:15am:** Not like I could be booty calling you anyway… y’know since I’m in LA

**Steve 3:15am:** I MEAN NOT THAT

**Steve: 3:15am:** I wood if I

**Steve 3:16am:** *would if iii

**Steve 3:16am:** ducking 

**Steve 3:17am:** I’m just gonna go die now. It was nice knowing you.

Bucky laughed, tension he didn’t know he’d been holding rushing out of his body.

**Bucky 3:17am:** You too. See you in the next life. Save me a seat?

**Steve 3:18am:** Wow… Not even gonna try and talk me out of it. Asshole.

**Bucky 3:18am:** What can I say? I know what battles to pick.

**Bucky 3:18am:** oh and before I forget and totally fall asleep…

**Bucky 3:18am: [YOU sent file “stretches-for-loverboy-;)]**

**Bucky 3:19am:** Ignore the file name (Clint thinks he’s funny). He made this guide to stretches he thought might help you… so he’s not a total asshole. 

Bucky had been really surprised when that email had popped up in his inbox that morning. He’d meant to forward it straight away, but Shuri had called him away to a meeting about his upcoming album to finalize the artwork, and then rehearsal; the day had gotten away from him.

**Steve 3:20am:** Oh wow! These look like they might actually be helpful thank him for me?

**Steve 3:20am:** Or just give me his email so I can thank him myself? I think these will make tomorrow liveable

**Steve 3:20am:** Speaking of which I should let you sleep. Night [thumb emoji]

Bucky smiled sleepily at the final message from Steve. With heavily lidded eyes he typed out a final message to Steve. He was asleep half a second after hitting send.

**Bucky 3:21am:** Night, Stevie.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The urge to throw his phone at the wall strong when 5am rolled around. Bucky was absolutely not a morning person, but he made himself be one at least twice a month. He climbed out of bed and threw open the blackout curtains, letting the faint neon-glow of pre-dawn New York  flood into his bedroom. 

One thing he did like about being up this early was the stillness. New York was known for being the ‘City that Never Sleeps’, but Brooklyn did sleep. The city seemed to calm down and just drift off slightly. The hectic pulse that ran through the streets during the day eased at night, falling to an easy pace, and you could almost feel the city breathe. 

Bucky headed into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While he didn’t exactly need to be up this early, he made a point to be so that he would be fully awake by the time he did need to be. The familiar rumble of the coffee machine sounded behind Bucky as he made his way back to the bedroom. While the coffee brewed he planned to take a long, hot shower.

Memories of his texts with Steve floated through his mind as steam filled the bathroom. Bucky would’ve been lying if he’d said the redness that spread across his face and chest was all from the shower.  He tried to eschew the thoughts from his mind, but he wasn’t awake enough to fight-off his imagination.

The ‘what ifs’ of the evening played through his mind. What if Steve had been in New York. What if Bucky had told him to come over. What if Steve had…

He slammed the break on that train of thought before it went too far. A certain part of his body had become particularly interested in these thoughts and he needed to nip that in the bud. He started humming to himself, distracting himself with music.

_ “There were nights when the wind was so cold _

_ That my body froze in bed if I just listened to it _

_ Right outside the window…” _

Celine always helped calm him down and channel his emotions. By the time he’d finished with the song he’d cooled down. He was just a little wound up was all. The stress of the collab, his new album, the dating ruse, preliminary plans for his tour, and the fact that it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone just had him going just a tad crazy, that was it.

By the time he’d toweled off and made his way back to the kitchen, there was a pot of coffee waiting for him. One of the perks to living alone was the freedom to walk around naked, a perk which Bucky took full advantage of. The cool air and marble was refreshing against Bucky’s overheated skin as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and letting a deeper sense of calm spread through him.

He was looking forward to the day ahead of him. He’d be spending it with Cassie and he couldn’t wait. It was one of the weekends he looked forward to every month, and precisely why his contract with Stark Records stipulated that he had to have at least two weekends a month with no major events scheduled. Tony hadn’t loved it, but Shuri was a tough negotiator.

He’d started volunteering with Big Brothers Big Sisters when he was in college. He’d been assigned to Cassie and they’d bonded immediately; he’d been her Big ever since. There had been a bit of a weird period when Bucky had started to blow up, but it helped that Cassie couldn’t seem to care less that Bucky was Wolf. To her, he was always just Bucky, and that was all.

He finished his coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and went to get dressed, bypassing all of his Wolf clothes and going for his incognito outfits. The clothes weren’t ugly by any means, but they were definitely less flashy than the ones he wore when he didn’t care about being recognized. The jeans he put on were ripped as a result of wear, not fashion, and the red t-shirt he pulled on he was pretty sure came from a three-for-ten table at Walmart. And none of it was as fitted or tailored as his other clothes.

He looked at himself in the mirror, smiled, and added a beanie, making sure to tuck his hair up inside. With a jean jacket he’d look just like any run-of-the-mill Brooklyn hipster.

Back in the kitchen, he pushed the bagel back down in the toaster for ten seconds to reheat at bit while he dug around in the fridge for cream cheese. He found the container and spread a light schmear of the thick pink strawberry cheese across the toasted sesame goodness. Bagels were a treat for him, and he saved his enjoyment of them for his Cassie weekends.

Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearing the time for him to go. He tossed another bagel into the toaster for Cassie and went to haul on his jacket and shoes. When the toaster dinged, he slathered both halves with a thick layer of strawberry cream cheese—Bucky liked to give Cassie a hard time that it was more cream cheese than bagel; she always rolled her eyes when she bit into the bagel that Bucky had heaped with the spread for her. He wrapped the bagel in several layers of paper towel and saran wrap and headed out the door.

He usually picked up Cassie early on his mornings with her. Her father—an ex-con who’d served three years for some white collar crime—worked as a night security guard, and Bucky liked to get her early and give him peace of mind while he slept. He’d offered the man work as a bodyguard once, but he’d turned it down because it would’ve taken him away from Cassie too often.

As he approached Cassie’s house, he saw the eleven year old creep out the door, making certain to shut it as quietly as possible behind her. When she turned and saw Bucky her face lit up with excitement.

“Buuucky!” she squealed, running down the steps and barreling into him. 

For a such a small girl, she hit with the force of a bullet, forcing Bucky back a step, laughing as he returned her hug.

“Hey punk,” he greeted when she released him, ruffling her hair with one hand. “How’s it going?”

She glared at him, smoothing her hair back in place, but her annoyance quickly melted away when he handed her the bagel. “It’s been good,” she said through a mouthful of cream cheese. “We’ve been learning about fish this week in science class, and it’s so cool! There are these fish called anglers that live in the deepest parts of the ocean and they have lamps on their heads! My teacher says it’s something called bio—bio… something.”

“Bioluminescence?” Bucky supplied.

“Yeah! That’s it,” Cassie exclaimed excitedly. “My favourite was the blobfish though. The other kids though it looked weird and ugly, but I thought it looked like would know some really cool jokes. It doesn’t have bones because it doesn’t need them to swim! How cool is that? Remember last year when I broke my arm? I’m pretty sure these blobfish have the right idea.”

Bucky laughed out loud at that. Cassie had not been happy having her arm in a cast for most of the previous summer, especially when she found out it meant she couldn’t swim.

“So what’re we doing today?” Cassie asked, grabbing Bucky’s hand and tugging him off down the street.

“Well, I found out about this cool indoor maze challenge,” Bucky said, attempting an air of nonchalance. 

“Oh my gosh! A maze?” Cassie squealed in delight. Bucky grinned.

“Yeah, but first…” he swept down and scooped Cassie up onto his shoulders. “I thought we could spend the morning volunteering at the foodbank.” He felt Cassie deflate a little on his shoulders before perking back up again.

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

Bucky chuckled to himself. He couldn’t blame Cassie for being a little disappointed that she’d have to wait for the maze. He would’ve felt the same when he was eleven. But she never complained when the plans Bucky made for their weekend included volunteer work—they’d loved her down at LGBT youth shelter and now she and her father went on their own to volunteer when they could.

“Can we stop and get donut holes and coffee for the other volunteers first?” Cassie asked.

“Sure can, punk.”

“Hey! Don’t call me punk, doodoo-head!” She ripped off his hat and mussed up his hair.

Bucky moved his head in a vain attempt to get it away from Cassie’s fingers. It was futile and he just let her do her thing. It wasn’t too long before her nimble fingers had produced two French braids which she used to steer him towards the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts.

She was still steering him as they walked through the doors of the warehouse, a box of donut holes and a coffee urn swinging from Bucky’s hands.

“Bucky!” crowed a pretty blonde woman when she saw them enter.

“Carol! How are things? How’s Maria?” 

Carol gave him a wry smile, taking the urn from him and placing it on a nearby table. “Ask her yourself. I was finally able to convince her to come. She’s in the freezer out back with Monica.”

Bucky smiled and laughed. With his arms free of his burdens he gave Carol a hug. “I’ll have to pop in and say hi. I’m sure Cassie will appreciate having Monica here. Isn’t that right punk?”

“Yeah! Who’s Monica though?” Cassie asked, clambering down from Bucky’s shoulders.

“Monica is mine and Maria’s daughter,” Carol replied, squatting down to talk to Cassie. “Why don’t you go say hi? I’m sure she’d love to meet you. And take her a donut hole.”

Cassie beamed wildly, grabbed four holes, shoved one in her mouth, and ran off through the big plastic flaps towards the freezer.

“Things have been good, Bucky,” Carol said standing back up. “Actually they’ve been great. In fact…” She held out her left hand, flashing a silver ring with a winged horse suspended where a diamond would sit in a traditional engagement ring.

Bucky squealed excitedly—a fact he would deny in future retellings, and Carol would revel in. “She  _ proposed! _ Why Ms. Danvers, Captain Rambeau is finally making an honest woman out of you.”

“That she is. Or she’s gonna try. But enough about my love life—October wedding, we’re registered at Macy’s—word on the street, and by street I mean literally everywhere you look, is that you have a new boo of your own?” She quirked a mischievous eyebrow at him.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he frantically looked around the room. Luckily none of the other volunteers had arrived yet. “Carol!”

“Oh don’t worry, Bucky. No one else is here yet. Your secret is safe with me, I haven’t even told Monica—even though she is a huge fan. Talks about you non-stop actually. Did you know that your birthday is March 10th and that your favourite colour is red?”

Bucky relaxed a little. “Yeah things are actually pretty great. We have a date tomorrow.”

Carol smiled and tugged him off towards a big bin of canned goods. “And you’re happy?”

“Yeah, Carol,” Bucky sighed, sorting the vegetables from the soups. “I’m happy.”

________________________________

The rest of the morning passed peacefully and without incident. Cassie and Monica got along like a house on fire and had already set up what they adamantly refused to call a play date. Bucky’s identity remained a secret—that didn’t mean he didn’t slip Carol a few tickets to an upcoming concert as a gift for Monica. 

He loved these mornings working with all the volunteers and being treated just like another person. It couldn’t last forever, and he knew that, but while it did he loved it.

When they’d finished and all the goods were where they were supposed to be, Bucky extricated Cassie from Monica and headed back out into the busy Brooklyn streets.

“And her mom is a pilot, and she’s even been in the cockpit of the plane!” Cassie said with wonder. She’d been gushing about her new friend non-stop for the past fifteen minutes.

“That’s great! Glad you made a new friend.”

“Can we volunteer there again?” she asked grabbing his hand in both of hers and shaking it.

“Sure thing,” Bucky laughed, pulling her along down the street, swinging their arms between them. “How about we get some lunch and then head over to the maze place.”

“Hamburgers?”

“If that’s what you’d like.”

They stopped in at a nearby diner. Bucky moved towards one of the red vinyl booths in the back, but Cassie raced eagerly towards the row of spinning stools at the counter. Bucky sat down next to her and signaled the waitress. He ordered them both burgers, fries, and milkshakes—strawberry for Cassie, and mint chip for him. When the food had arrived, Cassie took one bite, put the burger down and then turned to Bucky, an unusually serious expression on her face.

“Bucky, Monica told me you’re dating a boy.”

Bucky was so startled that he choked on his milkshake.

“What?”

“Monica says that you’re dating a boy,” Cassie said, not breaking eye contact.

“Well, yes,” he answered, returning her gaze. “But I thought you knew I liked boys.”

Cassie rolled her eyes so hard that Bucky was sure she could see into another dimension. “Duh! Doodoo head! But why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?”

“I—I didn’t think you’d care,” Bucky stammered. 

Cassie’s glower intensified. “Why  _ wouldn’t  _ I care? I love you, Bucky.” She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her head against his chest. “But I do have some questions.”

Bucky squeezed Cassie, his heart melting. “Sure thing, punk. Ask away.”

“Do you like him? Does he like you? Is he nice? And does he like fish?”

“Yes, yes, most of the time, and I don’t know.”

Cassie sat back in her chair and stared very intently into Bucky’s eyes. “Good. But you have to find out if he likes fish. You can’t marry someone if he doesn’t like fish.”

Bucky stared back at her, somewhere between amused and puzzled. “Sure thing, Cassie. Though we’re not anywhere close to marriage. But,” he added at the sharp look from Cassie, “if it means that much to you, I’ll find out if he likes fish.”

“Good.” With the matter seemingly settled, his pint-sized dinner companion turned back to her lunch and tucked into the burger with vigor.

The rest of their day passed in a happy haze. Cassie loved the indoor maze. It was a themed laser tag. Bucky and Cassie were armed with laser guns and they had to navigate their way out of the maze while an actor dressed as a minotaur chased after them.

She only grilled him a little bit more about Steve, but mostly she spent the afternoon talking about fish, the Greek myths she’d been learning about in her English class, and telling him all about Monica. By the time Bucky dropped her off back at the house, her eyes were drooping heavily. She was draped across his back and her head lolled against his shoulder.

“Hey, Peanut,” her father greeted when he opened the door. “Did you have a good day with Bucky?”

“Yeah,” she said sleepily sliding off Bucky’s back. “We sorted food at the foodbank, I met a new friend, she’s super cool and I’m hanging out with her tomorrow—can I  _ please  _ daddy—and then we were chased by a minotaur in a maze!”

“I’m glad you had a good time. I’ll need to meet this friend’s parents before you hang out, but I don’t see why not. Now go and wash up. Supper is on the table.”

“Hey, Scott,” Bucky greeted, once Cassie had run off.

Scott offered him a smile. “Hey, Buck. Wanna join us for supper?” 

“I’d love to, but I’ve gotta get going. I have a few things to do tonight and some calls to make,” he said, walking down the steps. He turned and called over his shoulder, “Take care Scott. See you later punk!”

From deep within the house he heard Cassie scream back, “Bye-bye doodoo head! See you next time! And tell your boyfriend ‘hi’ for me!”

“Boyfriend?” asked Scott.

“Yeah, kind of a new thing. It’s a long story.”

“Well, I hope things work out for you two. See you round Buck.” Scott gave him a mock salute and a wink before closing the door.

________________________________________

Bucky paced anxiously in his closet, towel wrapped around his waist. His wet hair hung heavy, tiny droplets of water coursing down his back. He had another date with Steve today. They were going to the aquarium, one of  Cassie’s excited suggestions. He’d called Shuri last night to propose the idea and both she and Peggy had thought it was a wonderful idea.

The only problem was that Bucky had no idea what to wear. When the whole charade had started Bucky had just worn the most outrageously flashy thing he could think of. Steve had seemed to dislike his flamboyant style and Bucky had enjoyed making him just a little uncomfortable. The more he’d gotten to know Steve, the more it seemed he actually  _ liked  _ Bucky’s style.

Now, looking at the racks of clothes hanging before him, he felt an enormous sense of pressure. What would Steve like? What would his fans like? And what the hell did you wear to an aquarium date?

The look he ended up going with was simple for Wolf. A black crop top with alternating sheer and opaque vertical stripes enhanced his lean figure, and combined with tight black jeans to give him a dark and edgy vibe. Smirking a little to himself, he added a single earring in the shape of a large silver fish skeleton. He threw his hair, still wet, up in a messy bun and quickly put on a little eyeliner and highlighter. Glancing at the clock, Bucky grabbed his silver high tops and hurried for the door. If he didn’t leave now he’d be late for picking up Steve.

When Bucky pulled up in front of Steve’s building, Steve was waiting for him. The small punk rocker looked the same as always: fashionably ripped and studded jeans, the leather jacket he never seemed to take off, and a t-shirt with ‘F**K TRUMP’ written in big, bold letters across it.

“I like your shirt,” Bucky said as Steve slid into the front seat.

Steve smiled toothily at him. “Thanks. Yours is nice too. So what’re we doing today?”

“At the suggestion of a close personal friend, we are heading to the aquarium,” he replied,  the car revving to life as he pulled out into traffic.

“Close personal friend, eh? Anyone I know?” Steve asked.

“Not unless you make a habit of hanging out with eleven-year olds.”

Steve laughed. “I don’t, but sounds like you do. What’s that about?” From the corner of his eye Bucky could see Steve raise a skeptical eyebrow.

“She’s my Little.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Bucky heaved a faux-long-suffering sigh. “When I was in school, I started volunteering with Big Brothers Big Sisters as a Big. I got paired up with Cassie and we’ve been best buds ever since.”

A silence pervaded the car while Steve processed what Bucky had said. His grip tightened on the steering wheel and his face started to heat up, waiting for a response. Time seemed to crawl by and Bucky grew more and more anxious at Steve’s silence.

“Are you going to say something?” Bucky finally asked.

“Sorry.” Steve gulped in what seemed to be guilty way. “I was just… surprised I guess. I didn’t think you were the volunteer type. It doesn’t really go with the aesthetic.”

“I don’t do it as Wolf. I do it as me. She doesn’t even care about the Wolf thing. And I don’t want the press attention. She doesn’t need that in her life, and neither do any of the other organizations I volunteer with.”

Steve hummed, deep in thought. “Have you ever thought that some of them could benefit from Wolf’s celebrity? Wouldn’t he bring in more help than just James can provide?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“And…?” Steve prompted.

“And I came to the conclusion that they benefit more from James, a consistent volunteer, rather than an onslaught of people who only want to be there for a chance to see Wolf.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Plus it’s one of the few things in my life that makes me feel normal. My life has been a whirlwind since everything blew up, and yes, obviously this is what I wanted and worked for, and I’m happy about it, but sometimes…”

“You just want to feel like you?” Steve supplied. “Without any of the… circus.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky relaxed, grateful that Steve seemed to get it. “I just need things for me. So… how are you feeling today?”

Steve chuckled at the abrupt subject change. “I’m doing okay. Kinda tired. I don’t usually sleep well on planes, but the trip was brief enough that I didn’t have time to get jet lagged. Plus those stretches that Clint recommended really helped. So I actually feel pretty solid today.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Bucky smiled. “I felt bad that this scheduled date came so quick on the heels of your trip.”

“Yeah, I hate that I had to fly out there for one day just to turn around and come back, but you know Tony.”

“‘Stars  _ never  _ sleep!’” Bucky shot back in his best impression of Tony’s voice, with accompanying Tony eyebrow-wiggles and finger guns

Steve laughed, clutching his belly and bending in half. Bucky attempted not to smile at a few snorts. “You got that TED talk too?”

“Almost before the ink had dried on my contract.”

The rest of the drive to the aquarium passed with them trading stories of their crazy interactions with Tony Stark. Steve told Bucky about the time Tony had threatened Steve with making the band wear star-spangled outfits on the Grammy’s if he didn’t agree to be the musical act on SNL. Bucky told Steve about when Tony had sent him to a party at what turned out to be a BDSM club in Harlem—Bucky had left very quickly.

They pulled into the parking garage and quickly made their way towards the admissions area. Bucky bought the tickets and they moved through to the line. They paused for a skinny girl wearing an aquarium staff shirt—as well as some not-so-subtle teenagers—to take a picture of them in front of a green screen. Bucky, a little uncertainly, grabbed Steve’s hand, holding it up to his chest. Much to his surprise, Steve startled slightly and then went with it, leaning into him, resting his head on Bucky’s chest, giving the camera a smile. He hoped that Steve couldn’t feel the way his heartbeat sped up.

Bucky was relieved when they moved into the main area of the aquarium. The lights dimmed to near blackness, the majority of the light coming from guide lights at floor level and the soft glow coming from all the tanks. Steve’s hand dropped from Bucky’s as he slowly drifted towards the nearest tank.

“They’re so peaceful,” said Bucky, coming up behind Steve. “And pretty.”

“Yeah…” Steve breathed. “Hey look at that one. According to this plaque, it's called a chubsucker.” He snorted harshly. “Sounds like my ex. I’ll give you three guesses how that relationship ended.”

Bucky laughed, looking into the tank at the little fish swimming around. “That one sounds like  _ my  _ ex,” he added, pointing out a fish that the sign told him was called a porkfish. “Sounds like both relationships ended for the exact same reason.”

“Couldn’t keep it in their pants?” Steve took Bucky’s hand and dragged him off towards another tank that was filled with neon anemones.

“Pretty much.”

“C’est la vie.”

“La vie,” Bucky quipped back.

Steve groaned and dropped his hand.

Bucky scoffed, offended. “Oh, c’mon. That was a solid joke.”

“It was terrible and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “but that’s what makes it so good. It benefits from the boomerang effect.”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face Bucky. “Okay, boomerang effect. You’re gonna have to explain that one.”

“The boomerang effect is when something goes so far in one direction, it hits the wall and comes back. So a joke like that is so bad, it circles around to being good again.”

Steve just blinked, nonplussed. “That,” he paused dramatically, “is not a thing.”

“It absolutely is. It’s basically what I’ve based my whole image on.”

“Ok, now I get it. Like pugs. They’re so ugly they’re cute. Hey, do you think they’ve got stingrays here?” Steve asked excitedly.

Bucky’s head swam from the abrupt subject change. It took a moment for him to actually decipher what Steve had said.  “I’d be incredibly surprised if they didn’t. Let’s go find ‘em.”

________________________________

They made their way through the dark corridors. Each of them would drift to a stop by tanks that caught their interest, one pointing out a fish they liked to the other. Bucky got really excited when they came to a tank with an octopus who was in the midst of assembling his garden. Steve indulged his staring for nearly ten minutes before rolling his eyes good-naturedly and dragging him away by his elbow.

Bucky ended up having to do the same thing to Steve when they finally found the tank of stingrays. He stood in front of the tank watching the stingrays sweep calmly through the water.

“It’s like they’re flying…” Steve murmured in awe. “Look at the way they sweep and glide! I like the way some of them flap to move and others wiggle.”

Bucky crept up behind Steve, who was too distracted to notice.  _ “Mesopelagic, bathyal, abyssopelagic. All the rest are too deep for you and me to see,”  _ he sang in his ear.

When Steve jumped at the sudden noise, Bucky had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from drawing attention.

“Asshole.” Steve glared at him.

Bucky just grinned at him. When it appeared that Steve was going to continue to glare at him, Bucky turned on the puppy dog eyes. “I’m sawwy Stevie,” he cooed in the most sickly sweet baby voice he could muster.

Bucky watched as Steve fought to keep a smile from cracking through his glare. It didn’t take long before he was unable to maintain his façade of anger and he sighed and grinned. He turned from Bucky and strolled away from the stingrays and towards the hall of jellyfish singing, _ “Oh, knowledge exploring is oh, so lyrical when you think thoughts that are empirical” _

Running to catch up, Bucky fell in step beside Steve. He looked around in wonder at the gently glowing jellyfish as they drifted passively around the tanks.

“I never knew there were so many different kinds of jellyfish,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded in agreement. “Me neither. Whoa, look at how big those Portuguese man-of-wars are.”

 “They’re bigger than we are.” An easy silence fell between them as they strolled through the exhibit. “So you know the Mr. Ray song?” Bucky finally said.

“Of course, James.”

“You know  _ Finding Nemo,  _ but you didn’t know  _ Winter Soldier _ ?” Bucky asked incredulously.

Steve just shrugged. “What can I say, an animated story about a small, disabled fish proving he didn’t need to be constantly babied just spoke to me.” 

“Okay, I get it. Hey, do you wanna go check out the aquatic mammals after this?”

“Yeah sure thing,” Steve agreed.

They made their way towards the outside part of the aquarium, making sure to avoid the area where they kept the sealions. The aquarium put on shows with them, and that kind of theatre and crowd was the exact thing that HowlingWolf wanted to steer clear of.

They walked around the open air tanks. Steve eventually came to a rest, leaning up against the railing of the orca tank. The whales were swimming around energetically, one breaching the surface every few minutes or so. 

“Isn’t that beautiful?” Steve asked. He fished around in his pocket and dug out his phone.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked.

“I wanted to take a video of the whales. I think it’s cool and the noises they’re making are beautiful.”

“Yeah, they really are. Kinda inspires me. Makes me think I might sample whale song on a future track.”

“That’s a really good idea! You should totally do that.” Steve nodded at him, and turned back to the whales.

Bucky dug out his own phone and brought it up to record the whales. He watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. He made a mental note to thank Cassie for the idea to go to the aquarium. Not only had the day been fun, but he’d seen a side of Steve he hadn’t before. This Steve had let his guard down immediately, and never before had Bucky seen this sense of almost childlike wonder in him.

“Y’know,” Bucky said slyly. “This would be the perfect opportunity for a selfie. You could even tweet it. Or put it on Instagram.”

“Do we have to?” Steve whined.

Bucky chuckled. “No, we don’t  _ have  _ to. But I thought it might be nice to commemorate a fun date. Plus,” he added lowering his voice, “Tony would absolutely love it.”

“I’ll do it. Not,” he added pointedly, jabbing a finger into Bucky’s sternum, “for Tony though. I’ll do it because I’m having a great time and I’d like to remember it.”

Taking the win for what it was, Bucky brought his phone up and snapped a pic of the both of them smiling. Steve brought his own phone up to take one of his own.

“Uh—um—” Steve stammered, suddenly unsure. “Would you mind if I—uh—if I kissed you on the cheek for this photo?”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “Um…”

“Just that, Tony would love it, but more importantly, I think it would—uh—it’d mean a lot to fans,” Steve added quickly.

“Oh!” Bucky considered. “Yeah. You’re right. Go for it!” He leaned down a little and Steve stretched up to kiss him on the cheek while he snapped the photo.

Steve’s lips were dry and a little chapped against Bucky’s cheek. A blush spread across Steve’s face where they connected, and Bucky was sure he was turning eighteen shades of red. Warmth bloomed in Bucky’s chest and his throat constricted with emotion.

When the picture had been taken, Bucky turned away from Steve. He needed to get his emotions under control. It was just a simple kiss on the cheek, he shouldn’t be reacting like this. It had just been so long since someone had kissed him so tenderly, without looking for anything more. God, he was reacting like a complete idiot and this wasn’t even real!

“And tweeting…” Steve hummed as he stabbed awkwardly at his phone screen. “Ooh, can we go see the beavers now?”

“Uh, sure,” Bucky said hurriedly. “Let’s go.”

When they got to the beavers Steve sat down on the bench in front of the tank, rolling his wrists and ankles.

“Do you mind if we just sit here for a while?” Steve asked.

Bucky plopped down bedside Steve, dropping his arm over the back of the bench. “Yeah, no problem. Joints bugging you?”

“A little bit.” He emphasized it with another roll of his wrist. “It’s not terrible, but I’d just like to sit for a little bit and take the pressure off.”

They sat in comfortable silence watching the beavers. The sound of one beaver’s tail slapping off the water rang through the air. Another beaver was diligently gnawing on a log, while another one was trying to move the same log towards the artificial dam the aquarium had built for them.

“Man, do beavers ever stop working?” 

“Not as far as I can tell,” Bucky replied. “Their teeth never stop growing, so at the very least they can’t stop gnawing on wood. Yeah, I know.” Bucky cut Steve off before he could say anything. “Sounds like your ex. Makes ‘em look kinda silly.”

Steve gave Bucky a pointed look, but said nothing.

“I dunno,” Steve said, “I think they’re cute.”

“Maybe beavers just hit a bit of a sore spot with me,” Bucky muttered.

“Why?” Steve asked.

Bucky began to answer, and then hesitated. He hadn’t meant to say anything. But, he’d been comfortable and it had just slipped out. “Well… I sorta get my name from beavers.”

“Come again? James comes from beavers?”

Bucky dropped his voice lower and leaned in close to Steve so that no one passing by could overhear them. “Ok, so my full name is James Buchanan Barnes. Now, when my sister was little she had a bit of a speech impediment, and couldn’t really say James or Buchanan, but she could say Bucky. It didn’t help that she had a stuffed beaver named Bucky and that—uh—I didn’t grow into my teeth until my teen years. After that, ‘Bucky’ just kinda stuck,” Bucky finished explaining. “I used to hate it. My dad teased me with it.” Bucky smiled sadly. He shook his shoulders as though shaking off the memory and shrugged. “But then Becca—my sister—well she got over her thing with the letter ‘s’ and started calling me James, and suddenly I missed ‘Bucky’. I decided that Dad couldn’t use it to make me feel bad if I liked it because it reminded me of my sister.”

“So your name is Bucky?” Steve asked, cocking his head up at Bucky.

“Yes. But only close friends call me that. To everyone else I either introduce myself as James or Wolf.”

“Clint and Phil?”

“Only call me Jay in classes.”

“Can—” Steve began, and then continued haltingly, “Are you saying that—Can I call you Bucky?”

Bucky pinched his eyes closed, tilting his face up to the sun. He appreciated the fact that Steve was giving him an out with the question. He knew that if he said ‘no’, Steve would respect that and continue to call him James. Bucky opened his eyes, turned to Steve and gave him a huge, genuine smile.

“Yes. You can call me Bucky. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t when we’re out and about, and if you didn’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve exclaimed. “I won’t even tell Pegs or the guys... Bucky.” A coy smile lit up Steve’s face on the last, whispered word.

Bucky smiled back and, without thinking, leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Steve, hugging him close to his chest. “Thanks, Stevie.”

______________________________________

From the twitter of @wolfisgoingcommando

My hand slipped…

[image: Drawing of Wolf and Steve. Wolf’s hair is up in a bright red mohawk and he is wearing a studded leather jacket and faded t-shirt with ‘Protect Trans Kids’ across it. Steve is wearing a flower crown. The colour of the flowers match the sunset cut-crease across his eyes. He’s wearing a metallic silver shirt with the buttons open revealing most of his chest. Wolf’s arm is draped over Steve’s shoulder.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mollus would like me to inform you all that she would die for Cassie, which is the best reaction I could imagine getting to that scene. (Honestly, even though I wrote it, I would also die for Cassie.)
> 
> This chapter was written right after I saw Captain Marvel and I couldn't resist using Carol in this fic. 
> 
> Also, why doesn't a laser tag minotaur maze exist anywhere?
> 
> Fact checking: I have never been to the NY Aquarium. The aquarium in this is based on Ripley's Aquarium in Toronto (with the exception of the whales and beaver parts). The date is heavily inspired by a trip mollus and I took to the aquarium when she came to visit. (We also made all the 'sounds like my ex' jokes we could possibly make)
> 
> So, Steve knows Bucky's name now! What does this mean for their relationship? And what happens next?
> 
> ex oh ex oh  
> The Authors


	15. Chapter 15

Steve sighed and looked longingly at the mug of tea on the coffee table that was enticingly out of reach. He stretched an arm out, willing it to suddenly grow 6 inches so he could reach out and grab the tea. 

 

No dice.

 

Fine, he didn’t need it anyways.

 

Steve pulled the blanket over his lap up to his chin and settled down further into the couch, trying to realign his back more perfectly with the heating pad underneath it and soothe some of the ache. Grumbling, he almost missed the buzz of his phone on the armrest until it slipped off  and almost nailed him in the head. 

 

He unlocked it and checked out the new notification. A new snapchat from JBB_SparkleBear. A smile ticked up the corner of Steve’s mouth as he opened it.

 

Bucky’s face, covered in extreme makeup (Steve remembered him explaining once that it was something called “contouring”, but he also knew it didn’t usually involve that much glitter), smiled down at him in a selfie. Steve thought it was odd that it was combined with a tank top and electric blue leggings -- at least, until he read the caption. 

 

_ Day 1!!!  _ It said excitedly.

 

Steve smiled, and popped open the text screen.

 

_ Looks fun. First day of group rehearsal for the North American tour this fall? _

 

Immediately, Bucky’s tiny avatar appeared and started to type back. Steve snickered and waited. 

 

_ Super fun! First day with all the backup dancers too. Bussssyyyyyy but still great. _

 

Steve remembered his first tour fondly, although it certainly did not have anything to do with backup dancers -- more trying to figure out how much they could jam into their bus and trying to find and print as many maps as would make Jones grow a sense of direction. Still, it had been an amazing experience, and he was glad it seemed to be going well for Bucky.

 

Bucky.

 

The secret name that  _ he _ got to know now. It made something in his chest grow a little warm every time he thought it. 

 

Jesus, if the press ever found out he was such a sap, they’d have a field day. Goodbye tough punk rocker persona, hello giant pile of mush image.

 

_ Thats awesome. Shuri having fun too? _

 

There was a pause and then another picture appeared. Steve opened it and immediately snorted.

 

It was an image of Shuri, clearly taken over Bucky’s shoulder. She had a cellphone cradled in the crook of her neck, a tablet in one hand, while  _ also  _ pointing directions to at least two people with the other.

 

_ Having the time of her life _ the caption read.

 

Another text came in; Steve’s smile drooped a little as he read it.

 

_ What are you up to? _

 

Steve sighed heavily, reminded of the reason for his day on the couch. His aching back and head swung painfully back to the forefront of his mind as they both twinged. He rubbed his forehead, mentally calculating the time since he last took a painkiller. Still a few more hours to go. Fuck.

 

He’d woken up and immediately realized it was definitely going to be one of those particular days -- one where who honestly knew what set it off, but the fibromyalgia was dead set on getting in the way of everything. His back had spasmed magnificently and his head was alternating between sparkly flashes in the corner of his vision and a deep, dull ache behind his eyes. At the very least he’d managed to get down some toast and applesauce, so he wouldn’t have to worry too much about hunger pangs on top of everything.

 

He’d called the guys and Peggy and let them know what was up, rescheduling practice for another day. They’d all checked in at least twice, Peggy had stopped by for an hour in person, and Sam would be Skyping later, but in the meantime…

 

It sucked.

 

But it wouldn’t help to tell Bucky that. He was busy, and Steve didn’t want to bring him down.

 

_ Oh just another day here _ he wrote back.  _ Not much to report. Tell me more about what the day has been like so far _

 

The typing bubbles and avatar appeared, and then disappeared a few times. Finally another text came through.

 

_ Well then I’ll just have to keep sending you pictures. Started in makeup at 5! AM! _

 

Steve smiled again and worked himself into a more comfortable position on the couch. As far as distractions went, this was a pretty good one. 

 

The rest of the day passed in mostly the same manner. He worked his way through a few items in his Netflix queue and napped, making sure to drink plenty of water, even if it meant having to drag himself up to go to the bathroom. Every few minutes or hours he got   intermittent Snapchats from Bucky updating him on how rehearsal was going. It was an excellent boost to his mood each time, and he found himself not spiraling into a funk as often as he usually did on one of his flare up days. It was hard to be truly down when he could see the excitement sparkling in Bucky’s eyes.

 

Around dinner time Sam called over Skype and Steve spent a few minutes chatting with him and his girls, Jenny and Stephanie. 

 

“But is it  _ true _ that his favourite colour is purple?” Jenny asked, staring Steve down across the screen. 

 

“Who  _ cares _ ?” Stephanie groaned, elbowing her sister. “What’s his favourite dinosaur Steve? That’s  _ way _ more important.”

 

“You know, that hasn’t come up yet,” Steve said, attempting to dodge the question. “But I’ll be sure to ask him next time I see him.”

 

“Daddy says it’s most important to co-mun-i-cate,” Jenny said, sounding the word out carefully. “It’s a keystone!”

 

“Well your daddy is right  _ sometimes _ ,” Steve grinned. 

 

“Hey!” Sam protested from behind the girls. “I’m  _ always _ right, and you know it, Steve-o.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve and the girls said in unison, making Steve snicker and the girls scream with laughter.

 

Just then, there was a quick rap at the door. 

 

“Must be Peggy,” Steve got up from the couch. “I’ll talk to all of you guys soon, ok?”

 

“‘Kay!” the girls shouted. “Bye Steve!”

 

Sam managed to lean over their shoulders for a moment. “Talk soon, buddy. Feel better!”

 

“Thanks man. Will do.” Steve closed the app and headed over to the door, dragging his blanket around his shoulders.

 

“Hey Peg--” he started, opening the door. And then stopped, because it wasn’t Peggy.

 

It was a pile of random objects and some very recognizable glittery hair poking out over top of it.

 

“Uh, Bucky?”

 

“Hey!” Bucky managed to wiggle a finger out from the pile and waved it at him. “Can I come in?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Steve managed, yanking the door open the rest of the way and moving aside. Bucky swept in, kicking off his sneakers on the way and heading to the living room. Steve followed, still blinking. Bucky dropped the pile onto the coffee table, narrowly avoiding the cold tea, and stood back up.

 

“Alrighty!” Bucky said. “I’ve got  _ Friends _ seasons 1 through 5,  _ Howl’s Moving Castle _ ,  _ Jurassic Park _ ,  _ Alien _ , mix for smoothies, warm socks, Twizzlers, sushi…”

 

“Uh,” Steve managed to cut in. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, because I am, but I thought you had rehearsal? And what is all this?”

 

“Oh, I did,” Bucky said. “But I got them to end it a little early. And I brought things!” He waved a hand at the pile. “Is it cool if I put the stuff for the smoothies in the fridge? I don’t want anything to melt.”

 

“Yeah, you know where it is.” Steve gestured blankly at the kitchen. Bucky dug out a plastic grocery bag from the pile and strode off towards the kitchen. 

 

“Wait!” he said, as his brain caught up. He followed Bucky. “You ended it early? Why? Did something happen? Are you ok?”

 

Bucky was shuffling things around in his fridge, but turned around at the alarm in Steve’s voice. “Oh no! Everything went great. It was a great day. But, uh…” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t Snapchat me back.”

 

“What?” Steve asked. 

 

“You uh--you always send me back at least once picture when I Snapchat you.” Bucky replied. “So I thought something might be up. And I remembered you saying you get bad flare up days once in a while. So I thought maybe I could come help out.”

 

Steve blinked at him and remembered the pile of things on his coffee table. 

 

Bucky had ended rehearsal early, and gathered up all of those things… just because he was  _ worried _ ?

 

He must have waited too long to respond because Bucky had switched gears into the full on babble mode Steve had noticed he got into when he was nervous.

 

“I mean, uh, not that you need help! Or anything,” he said, twisting his hands. “Of course you don’t, you’re a grown adult. You definitely have all of this figured out by now, I definitely didn't mean to insinuate that you didn't, I just thought, you know, because we’re friends, that maybe I could just bring you stuff that made me feel better when I was having a bad day and you liked smoothies that time we got them from my place and I read that making sure you got the right vitamins and nutrients was important for serotonin production during a flare up of a chronic illness and --”

 

“Bucky!” Steve broke in. Bucky ground to a halt, staring at him, chewing his lower lip. 

 

Steve couldn’t help but notice how adorable he was just standing in his kitchen. His face was wiped clean of makeup but he still had glitter in his hair, and he was wearing one of his incognito outfits that featured socks with avocados on them. He looked like he wanted to melt through the floor but his big blue eyes also stared imploringly at Steve.

 

“Thank you,” Steve said seriously. “That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

 

Bucky blushed as pink as the sunrise. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome.” He shuffled his feet, still looking slightly nervous.

 

Well, they couldn’t have any of that.

 

“C’mon,” Steve said, beckoning Bucky to follow him. “We should start with  _ Jurassic Park _ . Unless you need to get back to something?” He looked over his shoulder.

 

“Nope,” Bucky grinned. “This is exactly where I wanted to be tonight.”

 

Steve tucked the blanket up closer to his ears. Maybe it’d hide the blush.

 

“So, do you think you’re ready for the show?” Bucky asked, leaning back comfortably.

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve replied, happy for the distraction. “Peggy’s been coaching me, uh,  _ rigorously _ .”

 

Bucky laughed. “I can picture that. Please tell me there’s been flashcards.”

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You expect far too little. There was an entire multimedia presentation. Lights, Powerpoint,  _ and _ a laser pointer. She even found a mashup of two of our songs --”

 

“Wait, really?” Bucky’s eyes widened.

 

“Totally. Combination of  _ Lipstick Uppercut _ and  _ Take Down Your Walls _ , I think they called it, uh….”

 

“ _ Take Down Your Lipstick _ ?” 

 

Steve looked over to find Bucky holding up his phone, a Youtube video queued up.

 

“Yeah, that’s it!” he said excitedly and then winced. Little too loud for his head yet, apparently.

 

Bucky seemed to catch the wince and turned the video off before it started. “I’ll check it out later,” he promised, and then grabbed the remote. “Shuri’s been quizzing me too.”

 

Steve smiled gratefully at the conversation change. “Oh yeah? Bet she didn’t give you cue cards to study.”

 

“You know, she didn’t? I just got a lecture,” Bucky considered. He held up a hand, and counted off on his fingers. “Smile with all of your teeth, remember to mention the tour at least once, don’t talk about varieties of cupcakes you’ve tried…”

 

Steve snickered. “Well, at least she’s thorough.”

 

Bucky grinned and picked up the remote, starting the movie. “She definitely is. Besides, how bad can it possibly be?”

 

The  _ Jurassic Park _ theme played from the speakers as Steve sank back into the couch cushions. If he was a little closer to Bucky than before, who was to know.

 

“Oh, the movie reminds me, I promised I’d ask next time I saw you... what’s your favourite dinosaur?”

 

“Are you working for E! now?”

 

“No, just my friend’s kids wanted to know.”

 

“Oh… well it’s the ankylosaur.”

  
  


_ Two Weeks Later _

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back!” Fallon grinned cheerily at the most prominent camera. “Time for the moment we’ve been waiting for: I’m here with three artists that are just grabbing and holding everyone’s attention, we’ve got Crossbones’ Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers from Howling Commandos, and the one and only Wolf! Let’s make them feel welcome!”

 

He started clapping hard and the rest of the studio audience chimed in with occasional whoops and cheers. 

 

Steve leaned back on the relatively comfortable couch he’d been seated on next to Bucky and threw on his most public smile, trying to force himself to relax. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky grinning ear to ear and tried not to giggle out of sheer nerves, remembering Shuri’s line about smiling with all of his teeth.

 

Farther down from Bucky, Rumlow stretched his arms along the back of the couch and spread his legs out, slouching down with his sunglasses propped up on his head. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes at Bucky.

 

He thought he was holding it together relatively well so far. They’d been backstage for the majority of the show, as they were the final guests for the evening. Steve and Bucky had been able to share a dressing room to get ready, and had spent it chatting about the song and the recording session they had tomorrow, an effort on both of their parts to avoid some of the usual pre-show nerves. 

 

Steve’s stomach still fluttered a little at how when one of the stage crew members had come to get them, Bucky had turned, grabbed his hand, and whispered, “you’ve  _ got _ this”. It had done wonders for Steve’s nerves, even if he was pretty sure he was still sweating a little.

 

“Now!” Fallon announced, turning back to his guests. “I know Howling Wolf here has been getting, shall we say, a metric ton of attention lately,” he winked at them, “So maybe we’ll start with Brock here and get back to you guys in a moment. Brock, you’ve got a brand new album coming out in… is it two weeks?”

 

“Got that right,” Rumlow replied, shooting a finger gun at Fallon. He still didn’t sit up, and Steve thought he saw Bucky’s eye twitching. “ _ Nasty Women _ , should be out June 15th.” 

 

“Why don’t you tell us all about it?” Fallon asked, and Rumlow launched in.

 

Steve found himself growing more and more tense as Rumlow spoke. He’d never heard of the man or his music before, but it turned out to be EDM club mixes. It also turned out that he favoured stereotypical themes about sex and violence in his music, and after the fourth positive reference to Trump, Steve felt he had a pretty good read on the asshole.

 

He didn’t realize exactly how much he was reacting until he was startled by a hand brushing across his own. Blinking, he tried to keep his eyes on Fallon and Rumlow as Bucky slowly interlaced his fingers with his own and drew Steve’s hand onto his knee. 

 

Steve cautiously flicked his eyes to the left. Bucky was still apparently listening raptly to Rumlow talk as he rambled about “pumping up the kids” with his “sick beats”. 

 

Slowly, so as not to let the audience notice, Steve drew in a deep breath and let it out. He let his spine curve back into the couch and felt some of the irritation dissipating. 

 

Bucky squeezed his hand and Steve saw his mouth uptick a little out of the corner of his eye.

 

Steve refocused on the conversation and realized that Rumlow seemed to be finally coming to a halt, with Fallon telling him about looking forward to his new tracks. Rumlow nodded cockily, shooting another finger gun. 

 

Fallon turned, his smile growing a little as he took in their entwined hands.

 

“So boys, now onto you!” He leaned forward, making eye contact with Steve. “One of the most hotly anticipated movies of the year coming out in just three months -- so soon! This is a pretty big deal for both of you, writing and performing the headline track. What has it been like working together as a couple?”

 

“Well, it’s never boring,” Steve quipped. He heard general laughter from the audience and relaxed a little more. 

 

“Anyways,” he continued, remembering Peggy’s cue card, “It hasn’t been nearly as hard for me as for Wolf, he’s been working with me  _ and _ getting ready for his upcoming tour.” He raised his eyebrows in Bucky’s direction, who in turn shot him a toothy grin. 

 

“That’s right!” Fallon took the intended direction and turned his attention to Bucky. “Centered around  _ your _ brand new album, See Myself, and making stops in over 20 cities, isn’t that right, Wolf?”

 

“Absolutely, Jimmy,” Bucky replied, crossing his legs. It drew attention to the gorgeous gold sandal-heels he was sporting, which Steve thought was a nice choice, it made his already long legs seem miles longer. He almost snickered -- Bucky would be so proud of him for noticing. 

 

“I’m just honoured to get the chance to really get out there and connect with my fans,” Bucky continued. “They’re the true superstars!” he said earnestly, which the audience clearly loved, seeing as they cheered and whooped in response. Bucky waved with the hand not currently occupied with Steve’s.

 

Fallon asked a few more questions about the album and what Bucky was most excited about for his first major tour.

 

“So, are we going to see any more signature Wolf outfits?” Fallon asked, leaning in.

 

Bucky shrugged elegantly and winked at him. “You’ll just have to get some tickets and come and see, I don’t want to give away any surprises!” 

 

There was general laughter for a moment and then Rumlow spoke up; Steve had almost forgotten about him.

 

“Well I’m  _ sure _ you’ll be as pretty as the rest of the girls,” he drawled.

 

There was a beat of silence and Steve straightened upright. 

 

“Ex _ cuse _ me?” he demanded, staring the man down, fury clouding his vision.

 

Bucky immediately waved a hand between them, grabbing Steve’s attention back. 

 

“I appreciate the compliment” he said quickly. “As I’m sure he meant it. Did they tell you the entire listing of my tour locations yet, Jimmy?”

 

Steve tried not to stare incredulously as Bucky smoothly brought the attention back to his tour. Fallon also quickly changed the subject, but thankfully didn’t ask Steve any more detailed questions. Steve managed to get through the rest of the interview with mostly one word answers, trying to control the anger that kept wanting to spill out of his mouth with every twitch from Rumlow’s direction. 

 

Mercifully, the show finally wrapped. Steve held it together as Fallon thanked them all and promised to be in touch when the movie finally came out and then as Shuri and Peggy came over to post-mortem the interview. Finally, they were allowed to retreat to their dressing room. 

 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them Steve whirled on Bucky.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” he snapped.

 

“Steve, please calm down.” Bucky said, holding up his hands.

 

“Did you hear what that fucking asshole said to you?” He paced in front of Bucky.

 

“Yes, but--”

 

“Why the  _ hell  _ didn’t you say anything back?”

 

Bucky crossed his arms and looked down. “It wasn’t the time or place to be having that discussion. Besides, I --”

 

“What, so he gets to say anything he wants,” Steve replied furiously, trampling right over the end of Bucky’s sentence. “And you’re just going to lie back and… and take it?”

 

“Of course not!” Bucky snapped, affronted. “But I couldn’t say what I wanted, I have to think of my image. You’re not listening to --”

 

“ _ Are _ you?” Steve demanded. “Because I thought Wolf cared about standing up for what he believes in, about talking about the important things!”

 

“He does! I do! But you can’t make a goddamned scene every time you don’t like something! I’m trying to --”

 

“ _ I  _ do!”

 

“And how has that been working for you Steve?” Bucky snarled. “I let some things go and I get to keep making music, making a difference. Maybe it means it doesn’t take me ten years to get to where I want to be!”

 

Steve snapped his mouth shut. Silence rang in the small room. Bucky’s face was as pale as a bowl of milk.

 

“I--I didn’t mean--” Bucky started, but Steve held up a hand.

 

“No,” Steve said. “I think it  _ means  _ you’re not who I thought you were after all. I’ll see you around, James.”

 

He grabbed his bag and opened the door to find several show crew members standing right outside the door with wide eyes. They quickly scattered, but Steve knew the damage was done.

 

He managed not to slam the door on the way out. 

_______________________________________

_ Excerpt from Entertainment Weekly, “Starz Livez” column DATE _

 

_ [... while the duo appeared looking together and happy, with some adorable handholding on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, sources from the show state there’s been some hidden turmoil bubbling under the surface. _

 

_ “Yeah, there’s arguments, and then there’s knock-down-drag-out screaming matches,” our anonymous source told us. “Can’t confirm what it was about, but man, it was bad.” _

 

_ What this means for the new single, who knows? But Entertainment Weekly will be there with the latest up-to-date news on your fave celeb couple -- so long as they stay that way!] _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! What can this mean for Steve and Bucky? What does it mean for the single? And right when things seemed to be going so well!
> 
> Hopefully more soon.
> 
> XoxO  
> The Authors


	16. Chapter 16

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open. Bucky had nearly fallen asleep five times on his way to the studio this morning. Shuri kept shooting concerned glances she thought he didn’t see his way. He hadn’t slept all night, his mind racing, replaying the interview and the fight with Steve over and over again.

What had happened? Crossbones. That’s what. The interview had been going so well, and Steve had been great--charming, even. And then that asshole had opened his mouth. Bucky had felt it the moment that Steve tensed up next to him, the slight shift in his posture that said he was prepared to leap off the couch and get physical.

Bucky knew it would’ve been disastrous to engage. It would’ve devolved into a screaming match. Or more likely into Steve yelling, and Brock smugly throwing alt-right taglines back at him. No one would’ve come away looking good. Besides, Bucky had learned a long time ago that arguing with people like Crossbones was like talking to a block of cheese. It might make you feel better in the moment--to vent--but in the end you’ve just wasted your time and breath yelling, and the cheese is still cheese.

“Bucky, we’re here.” Shuri touched him lightly on his arm to get his attention.

Bucky jerked upright in the seat, bumping his head on the roof of the car. “What? Ow!” he said rubbing at his head.

“Look, Bucky, are you in any shape to be doing this today?” Shuri looked at him closely, her big brown eyes assessing every inch of him.

“Mmmm? I mean, yeah. I got this. Besides, we gotta get this song recorded,” he slurred, getting out of the car as he smothered a yawn.

The truth was that Bucky  _ wasn’t  _ in any shape to be doing this. Mentally  _ or _ emotionally. How could he expect to sing about grounding love when he felt so adrift? The stress of having to see Steve so soon after their fight had his stomach in knots.

“Bucky,” Shuri hissed, grabbing his wrist and turning him to face her. He nearly hurled at the sudden movement. “You’re not okay. And don’t say you are. We’ve been friends for  _ too long _ for you to lie to me. As your manager I should insist that you go in there. As your friend, I say damn the song and damn whatever Stark will say. You need to go home!”

“No. I need to record this song today. Steve leaves for Warped Tour tomorrow,” Bucky insisted. Shuri didn’t let go of him. “I need to see him. To try and talk to him.”

“Okay. Here.” His hand dropped from Shuri’s as she sighed. She handed him a bottle of water.

“Thanks, Shuri.”

He walked into the studio, sipping the water. The studio was older — dated wood paneling clad the walls of the booth, interspersed with giant blocks of foam to absorb ambient noise. Old and worn oriental rugs covered the floor haphazardly, making it a bit uneven, which was not helping Bucky’s sleep deprived coordination. 

The studio door slammed open and shut. Bucky sat up quickly, another wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the movement rolling through him.

“Morning.”

He got a grunt in return. 

Bucky made his way over to the piano and plopped himself on the bench, turning to face Steve. The silence in the room hung like the sword of Damocles. Steve moved to adjust the height of a microphone, his back turned to Bucky in a way that Bucky couldn’t help but feel was deliberate.

“So, I was thinking we could start by laying down the piano first. Y’know, to have a base to build on.”

Steve didn’t move or make any indication that he’d heard. Bucky swallowed down the massive lump that was forming in his throat. 

He tried again. “Then I thought we could take a crack at getting the lead vocals.” Still nothing. “If it’s not too late, and you’re still good to go—no flare ups or anything—we could finalize the accompaniment, tweak any of the vocals we wanted to, if you have any other flashes genius…” Bucky knew he was laying it on a little thick with that, but he couldn’t help it. The words just kept coming, and none were the ones he needed to say. Just trivial little things about the song that, quite frankly, Bucky couldn’t care less about right now.

Steve kept adjusting random pieces of equipment, not acknowledging a thing Bucky said.

“I figure that’s all we’ll get done today. It’ll give us tonight to see if the string arrangements are gonna work, or if we need any backing vocals...”

Steve hmphed. 

Tears pricked the corners of Bucky’s eyes at the continued silent treatment. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

An electric crackle filled the air as a voice came over the intercom.

“Yo Rogers, you okay? Can you do this today?”

Steve’s lips drew into a narrow line, his entire body going taut. He looked towards the technician in the booth, shook his head, and stalked quickly out of the room.

Bucky stared after him, the slam of the door ricocheting around his head long after the sound had faded from the room. What felt like hours, but must only have been minutes, passed before Shuri sat down beside him on the bench.

“Steve left,” she said, placing her hand gently on his knee. “Said something about not feeling well before walking out the door.”

“What the  _ actual  _ hell is going on here?” cried Tony storming into the room. “First that little fiasco at the  _ Tonight Show  _ and now this!”

Bucky tensed, but Shuri came to his rescue. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t the time or place.”

Tony, usually affable and carefree, levelled a cool stare at Shuri. “Gentlemen, can we have the studio,” he called to the men in the booth, not taking his eyes off of Bucky.

A minute passed before Bucky heard the distant slam of a door that indicated they were alone.

“Spill.”

“Really, Mr. Stark. It’s—”

“If you say ‘nothing’, Wolf, I swear to God I’ll cancel your tour. Now tell me what’s really going on here.”

“We fought. That’s--that's it.” Bucky crossed his arms.

There’s a subtle art to rolling one’s eyes, and Tony was a master. The eye-roll he gave Bucky managed to call him every version of the word “idiot” and question who tied his shoes for him every day, while simultaneously asking every deity under the sun for the patience to deal with such an idiot. “Yes, I could’ve read Twitter’s trending page if I wanted to know that. What was the fight about?”

“We just argued about what Rumlow said,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Steve thought I should’ve fought back, and I said it wasn’t the place. Then we both said... some things... in the heat of the moment.”

Tony nodded, thinking. “Yes, okay. Probably made the right call not starting a feud on national television.” He’d begun pacing and now stopped and turned to look at Bucky. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Bucky gaped, taken aback. Shuri rose, putting herself between Bucky and Tony. “Do about it? Why’s it up to Bucky to do anything? He was the one that Crossbones attacked, not Steve. Steve had no business getting mad at Bucky. He should be the one to apologize!”

The tears that had threatened to fall now spilled down Bucky’s face. He hadn’t let Rumlow’s words get to him, hadn’t let any words like that get to him in years, but those combined with the rejection from Steve, his own guilt, and Shuri’s fierce love had broken him. 

But Shuri was wrong. He did need to apologize. Not for refusing to engage, but for what he’d said to Steve. It had come out in the heat of the moment, a reaction to what Steve had said and the frustration of constantly being cut-off, but he hadn’t meant it. He admired how Steve stood by what he believed in. Admired how he stuck to those ideals regardless of the personal cost.

Bucky needed to leave. He needed to be anywhere but here.

“Hmmm yes, well—” Tony was taken aback. Clearly he wasn’t used to people snapping back at him. “I’ll be talking to Steve about it as well, but…”

Bucky was shaking, the tears openly flowing down his cheeks.

Tony was growing more and more uncomfortable. “Why don’t you take him home,” he said addressing Shuri. “We’ll talk about this—uh—later.”

Shuri hauled Bucky up off the bench, grabbing the bottle of water off the piano and passing it to him with the instruction to drink. She led him out the back of the building where a car was waiting.

They were quiet on the drive back to Bucky’s. He took tentative sips of water, alternately resting the cool plastic against the back of his neck. Shuri rested her hand on Bucky’s knee, a grounding force that kept him from spiraling. She got him into the living room and onto the couch.

“I’m gonna get you some more water,” she said taking the now-empty water bottle from him. When she returned she set the glass down on the table and then sat sideways on the couch, tucking her feet under herself and eyeing Bucky critically.

“What?” Bucky snapped, the pressure of Shuri’s gaze getting to him.

“What really happened last night, Bucky?”

It wasn’t said with any judgement, blame, or even curiosity. There was nothing but genuine concern in Shuri’s voice. If he could’ve brought himself to look, Bucky was sure he’d see the same thing in the depths of her eyes.

“I told you—”

“Nuh-uh. You told me what I’d need to know so I wouldn’t be blindsided by the press. You need to tell me the details. Because this?” She made a sweeping gesture up encompassing Bucky. “And how Steve was today, is not the reaction of a spat because some ‘ist’ asshole tried to be clever.”

“Ist?”

“Racist, sexist, homophobic, probably fascist, nationalist, and white supremacist too. But you’re avoiding the question. Spill.”

Bucky sighed, flopping back on the couch, his eyes closed.

“It started out that simply. Rumlow tossed out his barb and I refused to rise to the bait. Steve thought I should’ve. He thinks I need to be more openly political. I’ve told him more than once that that isn’t who I am. Then I— I said something that I really shouldn’t have.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that—basically that constantly picking fights like that was why it took the Howling Commandos ten years to see mainstream success.” Bucky winced hearing himself say it out loud.

Shuri’s answering hiss confirmed it.

“It was a low blow and I don’t blame him for being furious with me.”

He felt Shuri scoot up next to him and drag him into a hug.

“You really know how to put your foot in your mouth, Bucky. But you’re not wrong. Peggy told me as much. Said that Steve’s constant outbursts have been a PR nightmare from day one. But…” She pulled back, grabbing Bucky’s head to make sure he was paying attention to her. “He’s also right, Bucky. You don’t have to let people like Rumlow walk all over you. He’s not your father. You can and you  _ should  _ stand up for yourself.”

Bucky sniffed. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just easier to ignore it.”

“I know.” Shuri smiled softly. “But Steve’s right about something else too.”

“What?”

“You should do it publicly. You probably should’ve clapped back. Tony’s not going to let you go because you get into a feud with an ass-hat like that. Defending yourself isn’t going to alienate your fans; if anything it would be empowering.” She was practically vibrating. She stood up, pacing back and forth in front of Bucky, on a roll now. “And it’s not like you’re going to lose favour with Crossbones fans. They'll either like him and hate you anyway, or they don’t care. Besides do you really care about the people who would be turned off by you defending yourself?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Bucky blinked at her. “Uh… no?”

“Exactly! So what are you gonna do?”

“Stick up for myself?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

He stood, planting himself firmly. “I’m going to stick up for myself.”

“Say it loud, say it proud!” Shuri exclaimed, a fire burning in her eyes.

Bucky leapt onto the coffee table. “I’m not going to let people say whatever they want to me! I’m going to stick up for myself and say what I believe!”

Shuri beamed up at him. “Great! That’s what I want to hear.”

Bucky deflated slightly. “Quick question: how? And what do I do about Steve?”

“Well it’s probably a little late now to say anything to Rumlow.” Shuri laughed. “But I’ve got some ideas. As for Steve… give him his time away at Warp Tour to cool down. All you can do after that is apologize. Now get your ass off the coffee table.”

______________________________

It was easy enough to say ‘just give him some time’, but it was another matter entirely for Bucky to actually do so. Fortunately, physical distance forced the issue, and Shuri’s plan for what Bucky privately considered a public apology to Steve took some planning.

Still…

Bucky wasn’t getting nearly the amount of sleep he should be. The guilt gnawing at his stomach every time he was given more than a minute to think made sure of that. He’d close his eyes and see the way Steve had deflated when he’d snapped at him. Like he’d been slapped. The hurt in his eyes unmistakable.

He’d toss and turn all night, sleep coming only in fitful bursts, plagued by nightmares. He was terrified that Steve would never speak to him again. Never look at him again. They’d grown so close in the past few weeks and to know that it could all be gone after a few harsh words Bucky hadn’t even meant... The thought was too much to bear. 

It was odd, he knew, for it to happen so quickly, but once they’d let down their walls it felt as though he’d known Steve forever. He hadn’t trusted anyone with his real name since becoming big, except Tony, and that was more of a legal obligation than anything. But Steve… Steve felt right. Bucky wasn’t exactly one for ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’ but he couldn’t deny that something in him reached out for Steve. His body or his soul—something that knew more than his mind—recognized Steve as something essential to its survival, something that was meant to be there.

Without him, without that other person to reach out to, Bucky felt hollow.

Somehow, despite the recent flurry of planning meetings that had sprung up in the wake of The Plan—as Shuri was calling it—he’d ended up with a full day with nothing to do. They’d run The Plan past Tony—who’d said nothing more to Bucky about the fight—and he’d loved it, immediately throwing himself into organizing all the necessary financials and logistics.

He’d been spiraling all morning, alternately pacing around his apartment trying to get out the frenetic energy building within him, and lying lethargically on the couch. He’d tried sitting at the piano to compose or just play, but he always found himself back on his feet after only a few bars of anything. During an attempt at working out he’d nearly dropped a dumbbell on his foot. He quickly hit the showers after that.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, he picked up his phone, opening up Steve’s contact information. He typed out yet another text to Steve, thumb hovering over the send button before he eventually deleted it and threw the phone across the room and onto an armchair, letting out a frustrated scream.

“Wow, I knew it would be bad when Shuri called and told me what was going on, but I had no idea it would be  _ this  _ bad.”

Bucky jumped. He hadn’t heard Wanda come in

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sitting up.

Wanda rolled her eyes, toeing out of her flats and dropping her bag. “I told you. Shuri called. She wanted to keep me in the loop as, y’know, one of your best friends… thanks by the way.”

“Sorry.” Bucky winced. “I’ve been busy and—and I didn’t really want to see anyone.” He left ‘except Steve’ unsaid.

“Because they’ll tell you you’re being an idiot?” she replied in her exacting accent.

“Something like that.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m an amazing friend who isn’t going to say that. Now c’mon. Get up and go get dressed. Take a shower too.” She grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet. Bucky let himself be tugged up and pushed through his apartment to the bathroom.

“Why? Where are we going?”

“You,” Wanda said, “are taking me to an early supper, and then we’re going dancing like we used to. Now take a shower.” With a final shove, she pushed him into the bathroom and slammed the door.

When he walked into his room fifteen minutes later he found Wanda sitting cross-legged on his bed with an outfit laid out in front of her. It was a simple pair of jean shorts that hit just above his knees, a faded black t-shirt—tight, but not too tight—and an old pair of red converse. She’d also selected a black snapback with an embroidered red star on the front and a big pair of aviators, to complete the outfit. It was nothing like what he wore as Wolf, too ‘dude bro’, yet somehow a bit more stylish than his usual incognito outfits—and it also managed to complement her own red sundress.

“Ok, get dressed.”

“Some privacy please?”

Wanda heaved an exasperated sigh, but scooted herself around to face the wall. “Not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

“Yes, but under different circumstances. Besides, you’re a married lady. You shouldn’t be ogling other men.” He scolded her as he pulled on his underwear and shorts.

“Viz doesn’t mind me browsing the menu. He knows I always order the paprikash.”

Bucky’s head popped out of the shirt and he blinked, bemused, at Wanda. “Did you just call your husband ‘paprikash’?”

“Well you’ve seen him, he’s certainly not a beefcake.”

“But—uh…”

Wanda rose gracefully from the bed waving her hands dismissively. “Look, don’t pick apart the metaphor.” 

“Whatever you say ‘cupcake’,” Bucky shot back at her, earning a glare in return.

“All this food talk has got me hungry. Let’s go.” 

______________________________________

Bucky swayed and rocked to the heavy beat of the club’s music—ironically a remix of one of his own songs. Wanda had disappeared to the bathroom, leaving him alone on the dancefloor, dozens of hot, sweaty, gyrating body pressing up against him. The club was surprisingly packed for a Thursday night.

Wanda had provided a great distraction for him. She didn’t ask about Steve or the fight. Over dinner she’d kept up a stream of mindless chatter, alternating between asking him about the upcoming tour, dance rehearsals, costuming needs, and telling him about what was going on with her.

“I have to thank you,” she’d said. “I was just asked to dress Gaga for the American Music Awards. She said I came highly recommended by you.”

“Wow, that’s great! Though I can’t take any credit, it’s your design she was wowed by.”

"Either way, I owe you one, so eat up," she'd replied, toasting him.

Now as the crush of people around him pulsed, and he was left on his own, he felt the dark cloud re-descend upon him. The evening had been fun, something he’d needed, but it was wearing on him now. As more and more bodies bumped against him he felt an increasing desperation to get out of there, away from the loud music, the heat, and all the bodies.

He whipped around when he felt a hand on his wrist. Wanda was standing behind him, a concerned frown on her face. She tugged lightly at his wrist and he followed her as she led him out of the club.

A wave of relief swept from his head to his toes as he stepped out into the cool night air. His frazzled nerves calmed as he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall of the club.

“You okay?” Wanda asked, taking up a position next to him on the wall.

“Yeah, I just needed to get out of there.”

Wanda hummed, unconvinced. “Is that all?”

“No,” Bucky finally admitted after a moment of silence.

Wanda looped her arm through his and started walking down the street in the direction of Bucky’s building. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Bucky said, leaning his cheek against the top of Wanda’s head as they walked. 

“Ok.”

“It’s just… I really fucked up, Wanda. He’s the first friend I’ve made in a long time. You know how rare true friends are, especially in this industry.” Bucky sighed. “And now I’ve gone and screwed that up and he’s probably never going to talk to me again.”

Silence stretched between them as they walked, Wanda processing what Bucky had said. Finally, she turned to look up at Bucky. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that everything will be fine. It might not. You screwed up, and said something in the heat of the moment that you didn’t mean. Steve has every right to be upset with you. But—” She held up a finger to pre-emptively silence any response from Bucky. “He fucked up too. He shouldn’t have said what  _ he said _ . If the two of you truly value the friendship you’ve been building, this should just be a stumbling block. Apologize for what you said, and try to move on.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem. Now, do you want to go home, or do you want to go get ice cream?”

“Ice cream.”

__________________________________

Bucky danced nervously around the green room. Okay, it was one part nerves, one part he really shouldn’t have had four bottles of water. The press release for The Plan had gone out Friday morning; within the hour Shuri’s inbox had been inundated with interview requests from magazines, entertainment news, and talk shows.

They’d decided to do a press conference, inviting the media to come to Stark Records and ask all their questions. Shuri had also scheduled him on a few talk shows—he was doing Ellen Monday morning.

“They’re ready for you now, Mr. Wolf” Wes, the intern from before, said popping his head in the door. “If you’ll follow me.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at the young man and following him out the door.

“… and Stark Records is thrilled to be backing such worthy causes as the Trevor Project and the National Center for Transgender Equality.” Bucky could hear Tony’s speech from down the hall. “We’d also like to thank the City of New York, Central Park, and The House of Wyrd for helping to make this event possible on such short notice. But enough from me. Here’s the man you’ve all come to see: The one, the only… WOLF!”

With that Bucky slipped into Wolf and strode on stage. He joined Tony at the stand, and straightened his stance.

“Good morning everyone, I’m glad all of you could make it here today. As Tony here told you, we’ve decided to kick off the fall tour a little early with a benefit concert in Central Park, but I’m sure you have some questions I’d be happy to answer.”

He looked out at the crowd of assembled journalists. When he spotted Natasha in the front row he smiled and relaxed. He relaxed further when Maria nodded at her for the first question.

“Natasha Romanoff," she said, holding up her pen. "Red Room magazine. What was the inspiration for this benefit? Why these causes?”

Bucky swallowed hard, but reminded himself that addressing these questions publicly was the whole reason for this press conference. He deliberately made eye contact with Natasha, feeling her support allow his Wolf persona to slip just enough for Bucky to come to the surface and answer genuinely.

“I’ve always been an advocate for the LGBT community. As a gay man, I wanted to find a way to give back to the community that has embraced, shaped, and supported me. Growing up I was fortunate to have a supportive mother who loved and accepted me for who I am. I wasn’t that lucky with my father. If it had been up to him, I’m sure I would’ve been out on the street.” Bucky took a sip of water from a glass left on the podium for him, swallowing painfully against the lump in his throat. “As I say, I was lucky. But many LGBT kids aren’t as lucky as I was. LGBT youth have a high risk of suicide, and that only increases without support. We chose the Trevor Project because of their constant support and dedication to suicide prevention. We chose the National Center for Transgender Equality because even with the progress the LGBT community has made in this country and around the world, we still have a long way to go especially in regards to trans rights.”

Bucky smiled out at the crowd and saw dozens of phones and cameras held up, hanging on his every word. He felt reassured that he didn’t see hostility on any of the faces in the crowd.

“Oh also, if anybody has to use the bathroom, Tony asked me to make sure to mention that Stark Records has a trans-friendly bathroom policy.”

A murmur of laughter swept through the crowd.

“As for the inspiration?” Bucky continued. “Well, as I’m sure many people have seen, I recently had an unfortunate encounter with a fellow musician. It was pointed out to me that I may have handled it better; that I should’ve spoken up and said something. So that’s what I’m doing.” Bucky held out his arms in a sweeping gesture encompassing the crowd. “I’ve been given a platform by Stark Records, and as such I have a responsibility to speak out for what I believe in, and lift up others who don’t have the benefit of the privilege I do. So I’d also like to thank the person who gave me that kick in the pants that I needed to get out and really  _ do  _ something.”

At another nod from Maria, a different reporter stepped forward to ask a question.

“Janet van Dyne, with Buzzfeed. Can we expect any guest appearances at this benefit?”

Bucky grimaced internally. Steve. They clearly wanted to know the state of the relationship. He forced himself to smile out at the audience, letting Wolf come to the forefront.

“As of right now, we haven’t lined up any guest artists for the concert, though I will say I’m absolutely open to including other artists who’d like to donate their time. Inclusivity is the name of the game.”

“If that’s the case,” interjected another reporter, “doesn’t something like this exclude the very community that you’re trying to support?”

“Good question,” Bucky replied blithely, ignoring the smirk on the reporter’s face. “To answer Mr…”

“Alexander Pierce, Hydra.com.”

“To answer Mr. Pierce’s question, in short, no. For the benefit, and subsequently the rest of the tour, the venues have generously donated a bank of seating that will be distributed to local homeless youth centers. Additionally,” Bucky continued addressing the man, the sweetest smile possible plastered across his face, “thanks to the generosity of House of Wyrd and my personal friends Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, there will be a specially designed line of tour merch, the proceeds of which, along with a percentage of the proceeds from ticket sales, will also be donated to local LGBT charities in each of the cities.”

The man receded into the crowd, the frustrated scowl and hunch of his shoulders, telling Bucky that he was upset at not having caught Bucky out.

At a gesture from Tony, Bucky smiled sadly at the crowd. “Looks like I’m being told that’s all we have time for. Thank you all so much for coming this morning.”

With that, Bucky turned and walked off the stage, feeling a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying fall off his shoulders, as a small and genuine smile bloomed across his face.

_______________________________________

Excerpts of from the comments on RED ROOM

Music News

__

_ A Rainbow Shines Over Central Park: Wolf Announces Benefit Concert _

__

**Anonymous:** Ugh another celebrity sticking their nose in where it doesn’t fucking belong. Just shut up and sing, and stop forcing your faggotry down our throats.

**No1WolfFan:** Ummm…. Where it doesn’t belong? He’s a GAY MAN! He has every right to be speaking out in support of HIS OWN COMMUNITY! I’m happy to see he’s finally taking a public stand. AWOOOOOO

**TheBonnieM replying to anonymous:** You sir, can go fuck yourself.

**Smokin’Hot:** When can we expect new music from him? Dropping anything at this concert? I’ve already got my ticket!

**Naynay:** I AM SO EXCITED! That is all.

**TunaFlavour:** OMG this is so amazing!!!!!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave y'all on such a cliff hanger last time. I'm trying to stretch out the remaining chapters we have before Mollus and I catch up to what we have written so far.
> 
> Bucky has now done what he needed to do. He just hopes Steve sees it, and forgives him... or will at least talk to him so he can apologize.
> 
> Also, this is the chapter I alluded to earlier that I was writing in June at the height of Pride TO.   
> Prepare for the melodrama to continue as the story continues.
> 
> Will Steve forgive Bucky? Will this bring them closer than ever, or tear them apart? WILL THE SUN COME OUT TOMORROW?   
> Tune in next time to find out
> 
> xoxo  
> The Authors
> 
> PS: We could all use a Shuri in our lives to give us pep talks


	17. Chapter 17

Steve finally,  _ finally _ got back to his hotel room and collapsed on the bed in a heap. He wiggled around like a slug, groaning, trying to pull off his spiked vest without getting up; he eventually gave up and lay still.

 

That was show number three out of four complete, at least. He was pretty sure he could feel the bones in his back realigning.

 

His phone beeped from beside him on the bed. By this point, Steve would’ve thought he knew better than to hope it could possibly be from Bucky.

 

And yet he still snatched it up, hastily flicking the screen open, because  _ what if _ …

 

It was an email from Spotify.

 

Steve resisted the urge to chuck his phone out a window, managing to instead toss it into a pillow. He glared at it, daring it to light up again, and then flopped over onto his stomach. Some of his pins decided to dig painfully into his stomach, and he had to reshuffle, ending up contorted halfway onto his back.

 

A week. 

 

It had been a solid week since he’d received even so much as an Instagram message from Bucky.

 

And it was all his fault.

 

_ Bucky.  _ Did he still have any right to call him that? 

 

After the fight in the dressing room, he’d blown out of the TV studio and directly over to Bruce’s, fully intending to drown his sorrows. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, for him, Bruce had taken one look at the storm clouds on his face and refused to serve him. 

 

“I don’t know what happened,” he’d said, “and I don’t care. Whatever it was, it clearly isn’t something that alcohol will solve. Go home, Steve.”

 

So Steve had stomped home and stewed. And then spent the night stewing, ignoring the calls from his bandmates and Sam. Which had brought them to the recording session. 

 

Even that barest thought caused Steve to wince deeply and shove a pillow into his face. 

 

He’d managed to get some sleep that night thanks to some sleeping medication, but he’d woken up with a raging stress induced migraine. Lights were exploding in his peripheral vision and his eyes started tearing as soon as he opened them. 

 

It only made everything he was feeling more overwhelming. 

 

Peggy had taken one look at him and passed him his sunglasses. They’d sat in silence the entire way to the studio, Peggy stealing furtive glances at Steve and worrying her lip between her teeth in an uncharacteristic fashion. Steve, in turn, had tried his best  not to puke in the car.

 

And then the session. 

 

What a God-forsaken mess that had been. 

 

All his emotions had felt like a boiling soup in his head. Anger, at what Crossbones had dared to say. Confusion at Bucky’s response. More anger at what Bucky had said afterwards.

 

But then Bucky had said something and that anger and confusion had crystallized into one hardened feeling. 

 

Hurt. 

 

He barely even remembered what Bucky said -- maybe something about accompaniment? -- as the hurt got louder and louder. 

 

The last thing he remembered was saying something to Shuri, anything to get him out of there, and bolting back outside.

 

Thank God Peggy had stuck around, because he woke up fourteen hours later in his own apartment with a text from her on his phone. 

 

**I know you think you’re alone in this** , it read.  **But try to remember you’re not a solo act eventually, alright? Your keys are in the kitchen.**

 

Now Steve felt that hurt all over again. But it wasn’t just that, feeling over what Bucky had said, and how he’d managed to land directly on his sorest points. 

 

No. Most overwhelmingly, it was guilt.

 

He didn't remember what Bucky had  been saying. But he knew he’d been trying. Trying to find a way to work past their fight. Trying to make things alright. 

 

And Steve had bailed. The way he always bailed when things got rough. 

 

_ People think Steve Rogers is a fighter _ , he thought glumly.  _ They should know it’s only for the easy stuff. Goddamnit Rogers, why did you always have to -- _

 

His text tone went off.

 

Steve sat bolt upright and scrambled for his phone, and then deflated slightly, seeing it was only a text from Peggy. 

 

Probably just notes from the gig. He’d give it a quick look and then head to bed. Maybe he’d have something figured out in the morning. 

 

Steve flicked the message open. 

 

**Pegs 2:18 AM: You should take a look at this.**

 

There was a link shared beneath it from Natasha Romanoff’s blog. 

 

Steve tapped the link. 

 

_ A Rainbow Shines over Central Park: Wolf Announces Benefit Concert _ , the title proclaimed. 

 

Brow creasing, Steve read. 

 

After the fifth line, he dropped his phone; it fell between the nightstand and the bed. 

 

Holy shit. Bucky was going to… to do all that? Did that mean… what did that mean for… 

 

It took a few minutes, but Steve finally unfroze from his hunched over position on the bed. Frantically, he dropped to the floor on hands and knees and looked for his phone. He dragged it out and painstakingly went through his steps to find the group chat for the Commandos.

 

**Commando In Chief (Steve): Band meeting, my room, 10AM. Urgent.**

 

_ _____________________________ _

 

Steve folded his hands together and crossed his knees, attempting to straighten himself in his chair. 

 

Across from him, the Commandos sat or slouched in various states of alertness. Dumdum had draped himself along the couch in Steve’s suite, bowler hat resting over his face. He seemed to pay no attention to the fact that Falsworth had rolled his eyes at the couch-hog and sat down on his stomach.

 

He was pretty sure Dernier was awake. He was sort of -- sideways. Morita was helping prop him up on one side, and the other seemed to be held up by a stack of take out boxes. Jones, at least, was making eye contact and contentedly sipping a coffee.

 

Steve fidgeted, and then got to his feet.

 

“Alright!” he announced, which at least got all of their attention. “There is --” he had to stop, to clear his throat, “There is a chance. A good chance. In fact, a definite, 100%,  _ certain _ chance that I have fucked up.”

 

They looked at him. 

 

Jones leaned forwards. 

 

“Well, you don’t fucking say.”

 

Steve blinked. “What?”

 

Falsworth rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they were going to fall out of his head. Jones and Morita put their heads in their hands. Dugan, looking around, sat up and seemed to take pity.

 

“Buddy, c’mon. Seriously? You’ve been acting weird as hell and  _ all of us have Twitter _ .”

 

“Ok, but --”

 

“Meaning we  _ pay attention to the media _ . Especially surrounding incidents that  _ happen to our bandmates _ .”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Exactly,  _ oh _ .” Morita took over. “You went from the happiest clam on the planet to a giant pile of surly moping. We did put together what happened, we  _ can _ read between the lines here. So yes, clearly, you fucked up.”

 

“Right,” Steve said, wincing. 

 

“So now you just have to fix it,” Jones finished. 

 

“But I don’t know how to  _ do _ that,” Steve protested. “That’s why I’m asking you guys! Because I mean,  _ yeah _ I fucked up. We both said some things but I, egged him on. It wasn’t fair of me.” Steve started pacing. “I just think he should stand up for himself because what he does is important and  _ he’s  _ important and he should think better of himself. And he shouldn’t have to take what Crossbones said lying down. But I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t have said what I said or yelled. I should have explained myself.”

 

Steve ground to a halt, and looked around the room. 

 

“How the hell do I say that, though?” he asked. 

 

Dernier groaned, slumping further still and sending the take out boxes falling to the floor. “ _ Oh _ ,  _ pour l’amour de dieu _ .”

 

“What?”

 

Jones sighed. “He says to  _ just say that _ , for the love of God. Just say what you’re thinking.”

 

“I mean-- yeah, but--”

 

“Look, Steve,” Falsworth interrupted, reaching out to stop Steve’s pacing. “We know that this isn’t exactly your… your forte.”

 

Steve nodded, slowly.

 

“But you’re allowed to have emotions.” Falsworth continued. “You just have to say what they are, instead of keeping them in and blowing up. I’m sure he’s feeling bad as well -- look at what he’s doing with the benefit. He’s  _ clearly _ sorry.”

 

“You think?” Steve asked, letting a tinge of hope colour his voice.

 

“Yes,” Morita replied slowly. “It is rather… pointed, there. With the entire benefit concert -- thing. And Steve?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Talk to him soon. You’re driving the rest of us crazy.”

 

There was a sleepy chorus of assent, and the band scattered for the day, most of them to nap before the concert that night.

 

Fifteen hours and another concert found Steve staring at his phone from where he imagined it was glaring at him on the nightstand.

 

Steve tried to glare back. He failed, flopping back onto the bed with a sigh. 

 

No amount of anger on Bucky’s end could be worth this silence.

 

He looked down at the piece of ragged paper sitting on the table next to the phone. It contained as eloquent of an apology as Steve had been able to come up with. For once, he was damned sure he was going to be able to find all his words.

 

Just like writing a song, he thought. Let the truth come out as it will and it all harmonizes. 

 

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and grabbed his phone. With a deep breath, he selected Bucky’s contact.

 

The phone rang and rang.

 

Oh god, Steve thought, what if he wouldn't even pick up? What if it went straight to a voicemail that was just Bucky telling him to go fuck himself? What if--

 

“Hello?” Bucky’s voice came cautiously across the phone. 

 

“I, uh,” Steve managed. The lines he’d scribbled out so carefully were swimming in front of his eyes.

 

“Steve?” Now Bucky just sounded confused.

“Yes!” Steve yelped, grabbing onto one thing he was certain of, his name, and then winced deeply. “I mean, yes, it’s me, it’s… Steve.”

 

“Yeah I… thought so.” Bucky replied. “Caller ID and everything.”

 

He sounded so stiff and uncomfortable and  _ not Bucky _ that Steve finally managed to bring himself around. He seized the paper off the nightstand and cleared his throat.

 

“Bucky,” he said, trying to sound both sincere and steady, “I am calling to apologize.”

 

“You -- you are? But--”

 

“Hear me out!” Steve said frantically. “I -- I should never have yelled at you or said those things and not listened. It was awful of me.”

 

“Steve, I--”

 

“No, but more than that!” Steve continued, now waving the paper around. “I was angry at what Crossbones said and instead of saying that I took it out on you and --”

 

“Steve--”

 

“I didn’t stop to ask you what you were doing or  _ why _ , and I made it sound like it was your fault, which is  _ awful _ , and,” Steve jumped to his feet, “I completely lost my temper and that’s not ok because you’re my  _ friend _ .”

 

He cleared his throat again. “You’re actually… you’re probably my best friend, and I care about what you think and how you feel and how other people treat you, and when I care about people I get… stupid. That’s why -- that’s why I was so quiet at the studio, I just couldn’t think straight and I couldn’t… figure out the words to say it. So I’m just -- I’m sorry.”

 

Steve hung his head, and waited. 

 

There was a silence, and then a small sniffle came across the phone. 

 

Oh dear God, he’d made him  _ cry _ ; Steve was the worst person on the planet.

 

“It’s ok!” Steve said hurriedly. “I’ll just hang up now, you don’t have to say anything, don’t--”

 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry too!” Bucky burst out.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m sorry for what I said too,” Bucky continued. “About how long it took you and the Commandos to build up your career, that was totally uncalled for --”

 

“I mean,” Steve said, sitting back down on the bed. “I completely backed you into it. I don’t blame you. And hell, it probably did take longer because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, so-- it’s ok. Now, I mean.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I never should’ve said it. I lost my temper and I lashed out, and that’s not okay. If I could take it back I would. I just hope you can accept  _ my _ apology… and know… I -- I really  _ admire _ that you refuse to compromise your values for anything.”

 

“That’s --” Steve swallowed. “Thank you. And I saw -- I saw about the concert.”

 

“You did?” 

 

“Yeah, Peggy sent it to me, I was … anyways. That’s amazing, what you’re doing. Really. I was really impressed, it’s super cool.” Steve smiled tentatively into the phone.

 

“Really?” Bucky sounded so hopeful.

 

“Yeah, of course! You’re going to make a huge difference.”

 

“I’m--” Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m really glad you think so, Steve. It was. It was the best thing I could think of to-- to make sure you knew I heard you.”

 

“What? You didn’t have to--”

 

“Yeah I did, so shut it, Rogers.”

 

There was quiet for a moment. Steve felt simultaneously like he’d been wrung out to dry, and better than he’d felt in weeks.

 

“Did you mean what you said?” Bucky asked. “That I’m your best friend?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Steve gulped. Of course.” 

 

_ Be honest _ ,  _ Rogers _ , he thought.

 

“Absolutely,” he said firmly.

 

“That’s good. Because you’re my best friend too.”

 

Steve felt a wave of warmth wash over him, and he grinned into his phone. “Ok, cool. Awesome.”

 

“So you’ll come to one of the tour shows, right?” Bucky asked.

 

“Definitely. Maybe you can help me find something to wear, even.”

 

“Oh, try to stop me, pal.”

 

__________________________________

 

TicTok video posted by HowlinCommandonuts 

 

Video description: A hidden camera shows Steve Rogers sneaking up behind Jacques Dernier sleeping in a chair. He pulls out a guitar and strums a loud power chord. Denier screams and falls out of the chair, and the video shakes as several people laugh. Video ends.

 

650,000 views

 

2000 comments

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the healing begin!
> 
> Thank goodness for good friends. What would we do without them? Probably continue to wallow in self-pity and guilt.
> 
> What comes next for the two love birds though? Who knows?
> 
>  
> 
> (we do)  
> X0xo  
> The Authors


	18. Chapter 18

Rain fell in sheets over Brooklyn, the low hanging clouds painting everything a homogenous haze of greys, but Bucky felt like the sun glowed inside his chest. He’d been abuzz with happiness since Steve had called him. 

Sure, it had been the middle of the night, but he didn’t mind. It was just so  _ Steve _ , to act on feeling and completely forget that most people aren’t awake at 2am. Bucky hadn’t been able to get back to sleep that night, but he was so relieved that Steve hadn’t just called to tell him that he never wanted anything to do with Bucky again. And hey, all those hours of giddy wakefulness had resulted in Bucky finally alphabetizing his bookshelf.

“What’s with you?” Cassie asked, stopping to glare quizzically at him after he’d executed his third Sound-of-Music-esque spin on the empty sidewalk.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, completing yet another spin, water flying off of his umbrella in an arc. “I’m just happy.”

“Well stop it. You’re getting me wet!” Cassie shot back.

Bucky had the decency to look sheepish. He drifted back to Cassie and took up her more sedate pace.

“Is this because of Steve?” Cassie asked, looking up at him.

“What?”

“Did you two make up?” The eleven-year-old pressed further, refusing to break eye contact as they walked. Bucky had to hold out a hand to keep her from walking off the sidewalk and into traffic.

“How did you know about that?” Bucky asked.

“Monica. She says that Wolf—” she stuck her tongue out, as usual, at his stage name “—and Steve had some big, huge fight. She was so upset about it. And then last week you were all mopey and sad and didn’t even laugh when I told you how Daddy tried to scare Hope and she punched him in the face.”

Bucky stood stunned, staring at the girl beside him. She had to tug at his hand when the traffic light changed to get him to cross the street.

“So is it about Steve?” she pressed.

“Yeah, punk. It’s about Steve,” Bucky admitted. “We did have a pretty bad fight. But he called me last night and we talked about it, and we’re all cool now.”

“So he apologized?” Cassie asked. Her tone made it clear that she was on Bucky’s side in whatever argument she thought they’d had.

“We both did,” Bucky answered. “Both of us said some pretty mean things to each other. Stuff neither of us really meant. So we both said that we’re sorry, and that we’re gonna work so that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Ok. That makes sense,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Did you ever find out if he likes fish?”

“Yes. He loves them. I think he loves jellyfish most of all.”

“Jellyfish are pretty cool. No bones,” Cassie mused, tapping her head knowingly. “But blobfish are still better.”

Bucky just laughed and kept walking.

“So does this mean I can be the ring bear at your wedding?”

Bucky smiled, bemused. “Do you mean ‘ring bearer’?”

“You mean they don’t get to wear a bear costume?”

“Not usually.”

A frown creased the corners of Cassie’s mouth, disappointment rolling off her in waves.

“Tell you what, Cassie.” She looked up at him, hope and suspicion in her eyes. “If I ever get married, we’ll get you the coolest, most awesome bear costume and you can be the ring bear.”

Cassie’s eyes lit up, a grin threatening to tear her face in two. “I’ll be the best ring bear there’s ever been!” She took off running and executed her own perfect spin, dousing Bucky in a spray of water.

“Hey!” he yelled after her. “What happened to no more spinning?”

“No more spinning for  _ you _ ” Cassie called back. “Now stop dawdling, or we’re gonna be late! I can’t wait to tell Monica about being the ring bear.”

___________________________________________

“So I take it from your obnoxiously sunny disposition, that things are alright with Steve,” Carol said, hefting a crate of soup cans onto a shelf.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky sniffed, slapping a sticker on the crate, clearly labeling it as ‘minestrone’.

Carol glared at Bucky, not stopping stacking the crates. “Come off it, Barnes. I’ve been living with your biggest fan. So spill.”

“It was nothing,” Bucky said, focusing on writing out more labels to keep from meeting Carol’s eye. “We just had a bit of a—a lover’s spat, and now we’re cool.”

A skeptical ‘mmhmm’ was all he got in response. It was obvious that she didn’t believe him, but she wasn’t about to press him. It was one of his favourite things about Carol. She’d be there if he did want to talk about, but she wasn’t one to force the issue.

They finished with the soup in no time, sticking to their usual system of Carol lifting and Bucky labeling. A volunteer had once given them a hard time, heavily implying that Bucky should be lifting because he was the man. Carol had challenged the man to an arm-wrestle, thoroughly trounced him in under ten seconds, and returned to stacking. As the man nursed his wounded pride and sore arm, Bucky had politely informed him that he had neater handwriting.

“So,” Bucky said, handing Carol a bottle of water. “How’s wedding planning coming?” They sat down on a pair of milk crates, for a brief rest.

Carol answered after she’d finished gulping down water. “Ugh!  _ Please  _ don’t ask. If it were up to me we’d just elope, but Maria’s always wanted a big white wedding and who am I to deny her?”

“If you need, I know a few event planners…”

“Thanks, Bucky, but we’re gonna keep it… simple. Friends and family at Maria’s cottage in Louisiana. Bayou’s beautiful enough that we won’t need to splurge for much in the way of decorations.”

“Sounds dreamy,” Bucky sighed.

“You’ll be there right?’ Carol asked.

Bucky gasped as if he were a middle-aged woman named Susan being told her coupons were expired. “I’m hurt you’d even ask. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

“Well if you see any, let Maria know. She’s gonna need them to get me to a bridal salon.” Carol shuddered. The idea of a day spent trying on wedding dresses clearly did not appeal to her.

“Tell you what,” Bucky said, taking pity on her. “I’m going to give my friends Wanda and Pietro a call. They’ve been looking for an excuse to take a crack at bridalwear. It’ll be a much better experience than going to some boutique.”

“Bucky, that’s sweet, but there’s no way we could afford that.”

“That’s why I’m footing the bill. It’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

Carol looked at him, floored. “We couldn’t! It’s—it’s too much!”

He fixed her with his most fierce ‘don’t fucking try me, Danvers’ expression. “You can, and you will. What’s the point of me having all of this money if I can’t spend it on the people I care about? Not another word about it. Hand me that pallet of macaroni,” he finished, considering the matter settled.

Carol continued to gawp at him for a moment longer before huffing an exasperated sigh and handing him the requested pallet.

The rest of the morning passed relatively quickly. Bucky continued writing labels and stocking with Carol, while Maria directed other, new, volunteers in their duties. Cassie and Monica spent their time in the food bank’s kitchen making several large pots of soup to take to the adjoining shelter. Throughout the morning Steve kept sending Bucky texts. Usually they were a random thought he’d had — ‘when you stop to think about it, it’s absolutely ridiculous that kangaroos move almost exclusively by hopping’ — or a question — ‘Is it wrong that I might be developing a crush on a fictional crow? — or one time a photo of a pair of knit teal wedges with chartreuse tassels and the caption ‘saw these and thought of you. They’re hideous. I love them.” Carol didn’t stop teasing him about the dopey smile that spread across his face each time his phone beeped.

He made sure to respond each time, saying that he’d never really thought about it but that is weird about kangaroos, a reply that he hoped didn’t make him sound like he was jealous of a fictional crow, and a series of heart-eye emojis at the shoes.

“When does lover boy get back?” Carol asked. “Seems like you can’t wait to see him.”

“His plane lands at 6:35.” Bucky winced when he realized how quickly he’d answered. Luckily for Bucky, Carol just laughed.

“Picking him up at the airport?” She offered him her water bottle. Bucky took it, grateful for the distraction.

“Do you think I should?” he asked, fingers peeling and shredding the label of the water bottle. “I mean I’d been thinking about it but... would it be weird? He didn’t ask me to. I thought he’d just casually mentioned the time he got in, but do you think he was dropping a hint?”

“Whoa, calm down there pal,” Carol said gripping his shoulder. “You do not need to go down that rabbit hole. It never turns out well.”

“Bu—”

Carol clamped her other hand over Bucky’s mouth. She only removed it when she was sure that Bucky wasn’t going to spiral.

“Ok,” Bucky began, warily watching Carol. “If I go to the airport, I get to see him tonight. The worst that happens is he tells me he’s not up for it.” Carol didn’t react, letting him think out loud. “If I  _ don’t  _ go to the airport, I have to wait, and who knows how long that will be.” There was silence for a beat while the two options hung in the air. “I’m going to the airport.”

“Great, glad you finally figured that one out.” Carol beamed at him.

“You know, it would’ve saved a lot of trouble if you’d just told me that was what I should do.”

“Yes, but this was more fun for me.” Carol’s smile took on a smug air as she replied. “And see: you learned something!”

“I hate you,” Bucky pouted.

Carol ignored the pout as she stood, ruffled his hair with a condescending “Proud of you”, and went to find Maria.

___________________________

Bucky glanced around checking the arrivals board. The square that had been displaying ‘ON TIME’ for the last hour —despite it being half an hour since it the plane should have landed— switched to ‘ARRIVED’.

He tugged at his porkpie hat for the fifth time in as many minutes, readjusting it lower over his eyes and making sure his hair was tucked up under the brim. If it had been up to him, he’d have raced straight to JFK after dropping Cassie off at home, but the voice in the back of his head told him to go change. Deciding what to wear had been a challenge. He didn’t want to go full Wolf and draw the attention that would result in, but he couldn’t go incognito Bucky either; all it would take is one clever fan or paparazzo to figure it out, and then Bucky’s private life would be non-existent.

In the end he’d decided on a sky-blue trench coat over a fitted white t-shirt with an inverted pink triangle on it—one of Pietro’s mock-up designs for the benefit concert— a pair of black leather pants, and his shiny silver converse. He’d thrown on bit of eyeliner and highlighter for good measure, and a few rings and bracelets, black diamond studs glinted in his ears. The look was very casual for Wolf, but way flashier than anything Bucky would wear out with Cassie; he’d noticed a few teenagers pointing and snapping photos before being dragged away by parents who looked by turns embarrassed, confused, and impatient.

Another fifteen minutes passed and Bucky was starting to second guess his coming here. Would Steve even want to see him this soon? He’d probably be tired after his flight. Bucky was an idiot. Steve would just want to get home and rest; likely drop off the grid for the next few days if he had a flare up. Bucky hadn’t even thought of that.

He was about to turn around and leave, pretend he’d never been there and just call Steve tomorrow, when he saw the Commandos turn the corner. Steve was in a conversation with Peggy Carter, his arm up over his head lightly pulling his ear to his shoulder in one of the stretches that Clint had taught him.  Bucky was still about to slip away when a man in a bowler hat—Timothy ‘DumDum’ Dugan if Bucky remembered correctly—spotted him and elbowed Steve, gesturing towards Bucky with his chin.

The knot of uncertainty in Bucky stomach loosened as he watched Steve’s face morph from a scowl to bewilderment to a surprised smile. He released his head from its stretch and put on a burst of speed, closing the distance between them. 

“What are you doing here?”

Bucky could see in the way Steve moved and the tension in his voice that he was stiff from his flight, but his smile told him that he’d made the right choice in coming.

“Picking you up from the airport? If that’s ok?” Bucky said, a blush creeping over his cheeks, the knot tightening again.

“Yes!” Steve answered hurriedly, his own blush colouring his face. “I mean, if Peggy doesn’t need me?” He turned as the rest of his bandmates and Peggy reached them, the question obvious on his face.

Peggy huffed out a laugh, shaking her head slightly. “No, Steve. I won’t need you until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Really I should be thanking you,” she said turning to Bucky. “You saved me the fight with Steve convincing him to take a car rather than his insistence on public transit.”

“Hey!” Steve said, affronted.

“I’m right, and you know it,” Peggy said glaring at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking public transit!”

“There is when a car would get you home in a fraction of the time and I can already tell you’re headed for a flare up. So shut up.” She held up and imperious finger, effectively silencing Steve’s attempted response. “And thank your boyfriend for thoughtfully coming to pick you up.”

“Thanks B—James,” Steve said, thoroughly cowed.

Bucky smiled gratefully at Peggy and nodded to the rest of the Commandos. All of them were grinning knowingly at Bucky and Steve, and Bucky could’ve sworn he saw two of them exchange money.

“Can I take your bag?” Bucky asked, turning to Steve.

Bucky could see the moment that Steve’s discomfort won out over his pride and he handed over his duffel bag with a murmured “thanks”. Bucky hefted the bag securely into his grip before grabbing Steve’s hand and steadily guiding him towards the parking garage.

In the brief moments that they’d been talking, a group of paparazzi who’d been at the airport to snag photos of the Commandos had gathered. Bucky could hear his and Steve’s names shouted, while flash bulbs went off repeatedly. Steve’s grip tightened on his hand, and Bucky could feel Steve flinch with every flash of light. He did his best to use his body to shield Steve, moving them at as fast a pace as Steve could accommodate.

“What the fuck, man!” 

The shout sounded from behind Bucky. Turning he saw that Dernier had dropped his bags, rounding on Falsworth, a look of rage on his face.

“You heard me!” Falsworth responded.

“You always do this! Why are you such a prick all the time?”

The crowd had turned to focus on the scene the two Commandos had started, completely ignoring Bucky and Steve.

“Fuck you!” Dernier shouted back, shoving Falsworth.

Bucky eyed Steve’s fighting bandmates. DumDum caught his eye and made a subtle shooing motion, winking at him. Relief flooded Bucky and he tugged on Steve, urging him back into motion. 

When they made it to the hallway leading to the parking garage Bucky paused and looked back. Falsworth and Dernier were fully grappling, rolling around on the floor. DumDum saw that Bucky and Steve had made it away and toed the fighters who instantly broke apart and got up laughing, clapping each other on the shoulder as though nothing had happened.

_____________________________________

“Your bandmates are wild,” Bucky said, placing Steve’s duffel bag in his trunk.

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning as he lowered himself gingerly into the front seat. “They’re a handful, but they’re also the greatest guys ever.”

The car settled into an uneasy silence as they drove back towards Brooklyn. The two of them still held themselves tensely, the ghost of their fight still lingering now that they were together again.

Bucky let out a shaky breath the same moment that Steve turned his head decisively to face him.

“I want to say I’m sorry agai—”

“Steve I need to apologi—”

They both clamped their mouths shut again. The awkwardness returned twofold. They kept driving in silence for another ten minutes before Bucky made a decision. Grimacing, he signaled and pulled off the freeway and into the parking lot of a nearby restaurant.

“Can—can we both agree to stop apologizing and just forgive each other? And maybe accept that we deserve that forgiveness?” Bucky asked turning to face Steve.

“Yeah, we uh—we can probably do that,” Steve replied chuckling. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Yes we are.” Bucky replied with a grin. “What do you say we grab you some food and get you home?”

“Add some bourbon, a movie, and you to that mix, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Steve grinned, easing back into the comfortable leather of Bucky’s front seat and closed his eyes. He cracked one back open to look at Bucky again. “Do you—do you mind if we go to your place? Your couch is comfier.”

“Sure!” Bucky beamed back. “Do we need to stop at your place to grab a heating pad?”

“Nah.” Steve waved him off. “I’ve got one in my bag. Never travel without one.” He tapped his forehead knowingly.

Bucky laughed and pulled out of the parking lot. They were back cruising through the streets of Brooklyn in almost no time, and Bucky pulled up to the curb outside of a liquor store to grab Steve his bourbon. As he climbed back into the car, paper bag in hand, Steve tucked his phone back into his jacket.

“Food should be at your place by the time we get there.” Steve smiled looking at him.

“What did you order us?” Bucky asked, looking over his shoulder as he pulled out into traffic.

“Figured I’d go with the basics. Pizza, chicken wings, some candy, chocolate. Oh and ice cream,” Steve said after a pause.

“So a real health food spread?” Bucky smile ruefully.

Steve crossed his arms and pouted exaggeratedly at him. “The wings come with carrots and celery.”

Bucky chuckled, turning an evil smile on Steve. “And you’re going to eat every last one of them.”

“So you  _ are  _ still mad,” Steve gasped.

“Nope.” Bucky popped the ‘p’. “But someone has to make sure you take care of yourself, at least a little.”

“You’re a cruel man, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart did a little flip hearing his name on Steve’s lips. He did his best to ignore it.

________________________________

Steve was clearly exhausted. Fifteen minutes into the movie he slumped over, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. His eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to keep them open, blinking slowly as he stared hazily at the screen.

Bucky watched him slowly sink into relaxation. He’d strapped the heating pad to his back, the heat doing its magic and easing the tension from his back. After another five minutes Bucky felt Steve go completely limp next to him and heard the soft susurrations of his snores over the movie. He gently eased Steve’s head off his shoulder and into his lap, laying him out into a position that would be more forgiving to his back.

Bucky continued to watch the movie. He hardly noticed, but he began running his fingers through Steve’s hair, humming softly to himself. Steve wriggled a little, unconsciously making himself comfy and cuddling into Bucky’s stomach.

The movement made him look down. A smile cracked its way onto his face as he saw the usually tough and angry man burrow his way into him. He blushed a deep crimson when Steve’s arms wrapped themselves around his waist. Pausing the movie, he slowly, ever so slowly stopped running his hands through Steve’s hair and tried to extricate himself from his arms. Steve didn’t seem to wake, but his arms tightened around Bucky’s waist and tension creased his face. He could’ve sworn he heard a mumbled “no” too. Bucky settled back and resumed playing with Steve’s hair; Steve instantly relaxed again. 

He sat, stroking Steve’s hair and humming to himself. A tune had popped into his head at the airport and now returned, even stronger, wanting to be explored. A single phrase was all there was. Something a little sad, but hopeful. A melody, a lullaby really, that sounded like light in the darkness, and the promise that there was someone waiting for you at the light.

As he stared down at Steve sleeping peacefully in his lap, the melody grew. He suddenly knew where each phrase was going as a song grew rapidly out of a handful of notes. Grabbing a notebook and pencil from the side table, he frantically sketched out the basic framework of the song, though he had a feeling he’d be able to remember how this particular piece went.

Steve was well and truly asleep an hour later, when Bucky was certain he had the last bit of the song secured in his mind. Sighing, he gazed fondly down at the man asleep in his lap. Standing, he gently lowered Steve’s head back to the pillow. There was no way Bucky was going to let Steve pass the night on the couch, especially since he knew Steve was going to have a rough day tomorrow after all the travel and junk food.

Tentatively, Bucky slid his arms underneath Steve’s knees and shoulders, making sure not to wake him. Steve would probably kill Bucky if he knew that he was being carried bridal-style, but Bucky thought it would be worth it if it meant Steve felt even a fraction better tomorrow because of it. Bucky laid him down gently in his bed before tucking a blanket up over him, placing the heating pad next to him, and a bottle of painkillers and water on the bedside table.

He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair one last time then, impulsively, placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. He quietly closed the door with a soft “G’night, punk,” and went to sit at his electric keyboard, plugging in headphones so not to wake Steve.

______________________________________________________

Video posted to @OfficialWolf Instagram

[The camera pans across a rehearsal studio where a group of backup dancers are running a combination. Video cuts to front facing camera to show Wolf, heavily contoured with blinding highlight and a neon watermelon inspired eye-look. Behind him the dancers from the previous shot sit, each wearing similar makeup. Wolf speaks]

“We’re having so much fun in rehearsal learning these dances and trying out some looks for tour! I’d like you guys to meet Vanessa, Kim, Browen, Lindsay, Talia, and Fran. They’re the amazing talented dancers who’ll be joining me on tour.”

[Wolf poses a bit for the camera. He speaks again]

“What do you guys think? Am I as pretty as these gorgeous and talented women?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> A few things:
> 
> 1) mollus would like me to inform y'all that she would DIE FOR CASSIE  
> 2) Steve's texts to Bucky are, verbatim, texts I have sent to my sister  
> 3) The movie they are watching is "The Road to El Dorado" (do I describe anything about the movie in this chapter? No. That's because I'm taking a page out of JKR's book and saying that "It wasn't relevant to Bucky's story". But it's important to me that you know this information.  
> 4) While writing this I fantasized about a ridiculous fantasy wedding that was literally inserted into the middle of the story because I wanted to share it with mollus.  
> 5) Updates are coming more slowly now because mollus and I have caught up to what we'd already written, so I'll be updating as chapters are written and edited.
> 
> That's all,  
> Xoxo The authors


	19. Chapter 19

A gentle beam of sunlight crossing his face was what finally woke Steve. 

 

Blinking, he took in the massive bed he found himself sprawled out in. A crisp white bedspread provided a clean base for an array of large pillows embroidered with brilliantly coloured flowers (Steve counted four near his head, and spotted at least another five on the floor). Gauzy white fabric hung from the ceiling, making him feel like he was in a tent. 

 

It was surprisingly cozy.

 

As he scrubbed the sand out of his eyes, Steve took in the rest of his surroundings. A large padded bench sat at the end of the bed, loaded with books, manuscript paper scrawled with random bars of music, and at least five journals. One corner had a doorway leading to a closet, based on the glimpses of clothes Steve could see reflected in a massive mirror. Another corner had a large built-in bookcase painted to blend into the charcoal walls. The sunlight that had woken him up was streaming through a large set of windows that looked out onto busy Brooklyn streets. The view itself was almost blocked out by the plants that took up the space. Ivy creeped across the curtain rod, and the floor was taken up by pots in a variety of sizes - Steve spotted several cacti, as well as an orchid and a particularly vibrant spider plant. 

 

It was the fact that several of the pots had names painted on them--he was particularly fond of the aloe plant named Alisha--  that cemented it for Steve. 

 

Definitely Bucky’s room. 

 

Steve yawned and sat up, carefully drawing aside one of the curtains. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly. 

 

Certainly before their fight.

 

He worked his way out of bed and out of the room, working on a hunch. 

 

It proved correct when he found Bucky sleeping on the sofa in the living room. 

 

Steve leaned against the door frame watching the gentle rise and fall of Bucky’s chest for a moment. 

 

The last thing he could remember from the night before was being exhausted and… falling asleep on Bucky’s lap. 

 

Steve considered that for a moment, waiting for the awkwardness and discomfort to arrive. It didn’t. If anything, he was weirded out by how  _ not _ uncomfortable he was with that image. He’d felt so comfortable and relaxed hearing the beat of Bucky’s heart, his head pillowed on his chest. Feeling the sweep of Bucky’s fingers through his hair. 

 

He hadn’t wanted it to end. 

 

Bucky had one arm thrown up behind him on the couch, a tendril of hair draping itself across his forehead. Steve’s fingers itched to brush it back. 

 

God he was so grateful they’d worked out their fight. That this weird arrangement had crash landed Bucky in his life.

 

He was still warm from how Bucky had looked at the arrivals gate at the airport. From knowing that Bucky had come to the airport just for him, to see him that much sooner. 

 

(Steve hadn’t been counting down the days or anything). 

 

And now Bucky had clearly given up his bed just to make Steve sleep better.

 

Bucky had… he’d taken care of him.

 

It was a long time, Steve thought, since he’d let anyone close enough to take care of him. 

 

Quietly, Steve stepped back out of the room. He made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. 

 

He was determined to learn from their fight. More so, he was determined to make sure it never happened again. If Bucky was going to take care of him, he was going to take care of Bucky too. 

 

Steve pulled out his phone. 

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

“Oh wow, what is that?” Bucky mumbled, coming into the kitchen. “Smells amazing.”

 

Steve finished setting out the plates on the table, and turned to Bucky.

 

“Morning,” he said, smiling. “That would either be the latte or the french toast.”

 

“What?” Bucky blinked at him. “When… where did…”

 

“Well, to be fair,  _ I  _ didn’t really do much,” Steve admitted. “Some other people did. You would  _ not _ want to eat a breakfast I’d cooked.” He gestured at Bucky to sit down, and Bucky took a seat. 

 

Steve opened the oven and took out the containers from where he’d been warming them and set them on the table.

 

“Sweet potato hash browns,” he started, pointing to one container. “And pork belly bacon,” he pointed to the next. “And finally-” he swept the lid off the last one, “bread pudding french toast with blueberry compote, pistachios, and extra whipped cream.” He passed Bucky a large mug. “And a double shot latte with a shot of chocolate and cinnamon.”

 

Bucky stared at him. 

 

“Uh,” Steve said after a moment of silence. “Is this-- Did I--” Heat spread across his face, anxious regret clenching its fist around his gut.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said. He inhaled deeply, the coffee cup right under his nose.. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you… did you order my favourite brunch foods? From my favourite brunch place?”

 

Steve smiled tentatively. “Yes?”

 

Bucky blinked at him. “But we’ve… never gone out for brunch together.”

 

Steve coughed. “I may have. Um. Called around. To Shuri. Left a voicemail. And Pietro. Who I think was asleep. Told me to call Wanda.”

 

Bucky looked down at the food. “I didn’t think the Station delivered?”

 

Steve wiggled a little. “Uh, they don’t, normally. But uh, when it’s for Steve Rogers of the Howling Commandos…” he shrugged. “People make things happen.”

 

“But… you hate using your name for things,” Bucky said.

 

Steve shrugged again. “Sometimes it’s worth it.”

 

He thought about leaving it at that, but remembered Dernier’s advice.

 

“ _ You’re _ worth it,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried his best to make eye contact while he said it and managed to stare at Bucky’s chin.

 

Damnit, saying what he thought was  _ hard _ .

 

“Oh!” Bucky said, after a moment. He took a step forward, his arms raised as if to hug Steve, but jerked weirdly and finally came to stillness. “Well then… thank you. This is amazing.” He beamed down at Steve.

 

Steve smiled shyly at him. “You’re welcome. You have to share the bacon though, it’s my favourite too.”

 

“Only if you let me try some of your pancakes.”

 

They dug in. Steve filled Bucky in on how Warped Tour went, describing the cities they stopped in and telling stories about how the rest of the Commandos adapted (or didn’t) to travel. Bucky told him about rehearsals for the concerts, and what it was like working with the different organizations that were benefiting. Eventually, their plates were empty and they each sat quietly with their coffees, just enjoying each other’s company.

 

“I’m glad to be back, though,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “Being on the road wears me out.”

 

“Yeah, it’s fun when it’s happening, but I always end up losing, like, ten pounds,” Bucky admitted. “Between the performances, and the weird sleeping hours, and the food…”

 

“Definitely,” Steve agreed. “And the water pressure.”

 

"...What?"

 

"The water pressure in the hotels. It's always super weak. Who the hell wants a gentle shower after you've been drenched in performance sweat and hunched over a guitar for three hours?" Steve waved his arms, getting animated. "It's a  _ travesty _ , is what it is. I tried to ask if it was something Peggy could put in my contract, but she said it would make me seem 'unreasonable', apparently." 

 

Bucky laughed.  “You’re not wrong.” He took a big sip of his latte. A daub of whipped cream spotted the corner of his mouth.

 

Steve grinned. “You’re making a mess.” 

 

“ _ You’re _ a mess,” Bucky shot back.

 

“No, I mean-” Steve leaned forward and, without thinking, thumbed the cream off Bucky’s mouth. 

 

Bucky startled and Steve froze. His hand was still on Bucky’s face, holding his chin, thumb hovering barely a centimeter above Bucky’s lips. As he watched, a gentle flush stole across Bucky’s cheeks. 

 

Steve swallowed. Bucky’s eyes glazed over, staring back at him, lips parting ever so slightly. They were close enough that Steve could count the grey flecks in the blue of Bucky’s eyes.

 

The room had gone still and silent, waiting for either of them to breathe. What was happening here? And had Steve crossed his eyes while staring at him?

 

Steve’s phone burst into song from the living room,  _ Danger Zone _ playing at top volume. 

 

They both jumped apart and Steve swore. “That’s Tony’s ringtone.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Bucky replied, taking a gulp of his coffee and checking a watch he wasn’t wearing. 

 

Steve hurried out to the living room, cursing Tony’s timing, and simultaneously wondering why exactly he was so irritated by it. 

 

“Hi, Tony.” Steve answered it, trying not to sound too annoyed. 

 

It apparently didn’t work. “Rogers!” Tony exclaimed with his characteristic ebullience. “What died in your coffee this morning?”

 

“Nothing, Tony,” Steve sighed. “What’s going on?”

 

“Alright,  _ don’t _ tell me, I’ll figure it out eventually. Now, it’s about you and Wolf.”

 

Of course that’s what it was. “Want me to put you on speakerphone? Bu- he’s here.”

 

“ _ Is _ he then?” Tony asked, sounding intrigued and a little… smug? 

 

Steve suddenly remembered it wasn’t even noon. 

 

“Er-- yeah. We, uh, we were--” 

 

“You know, it’s not polite to kiss and tell, Rogers.”

 

Steve’s face flamed. “We weren’t--”

 

“What two consenting adults do in private at 10am is none of my business. What happens in  _ public _ is! Put me on speaker.”

 

Steve sighed, giving up. He came back into the kitchen, mouthing ‘speaker’ at Bucky. Instantly he sat up straighter in his chair.

 

“Good morning, Tony,” Bucky said. 

 

“Wolf!” Tony said. “Good to hear from you. That benefit was a stroke of genius. The press is  _ loving _ you and it. Congrats! And Shuri tells me everything is going according to schedule.”

 

“Yeah, she’s got everything under control as usual, thank you Tony.”

 

“Good, good. Now, on to important matters. You two gentlemen have some work to do.”

 

“We do?” Steve asked. “About what?”

 

“Some damage control and quality make-up time, my lovebirds!” Tony replied. “Your little snafu at the Tonight show is still right at the top of people’s radars. It’s going to take more than an airport pick-up to blow that one away, although, good thinking on your part, Wolf.”

 

Steve glanced at a frowning Bucky. “That wasn’t--”

 

“So of course,” Tony continued, “I have come to your rescue as usual. You have a date. Tonight.”

 

Steve blinked. “What--”

 

“I’ve already cleared it with Shuri and Peggy, so no sass, Rogers.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I was going to ask what it was, Tony.”

 

“It’s the best kind of date!” Tony said. “A surprise! But don’t worry, it’s plenty romantic. Or so Pepper assures me.”

 

Bucky pinched his brow. “Tony--”

 

“No buts!” Tony said. “You are contractually obligated to have whatever date I see fit to send you on, and this is the perfect opportunity, trust me. Also, I have been  _ quite _ understanding about how things have been for the last few weeks, but that can only go so far, gentlemen.” There was a note of steel in the last sentence. 

 

Bucky looked like he was about to interrupt, but Steve motioned at him and shrugged.

 

_ You know Tony _ , he mouthed.

 

Bucky sighed and nodded.

 

“We know, Tony,” Steve replied. “We’ll go.”

 

“Great!” Tony said. “I’ll forward the deets to you both. Wear something you don’t mind ruining--ciao!” The phone went dead. 

 

There was silence for a moment and then Bucky fixed Steve with a stare, snatching up both of his hands. Steve tried not to notice how rough and calloused his hands were compared to the softness of Bucky’s.

 

“I did  _ not _ come get you from the airport to make us look good in the press,” Bucky said fiercely.

 

“Oh, uh,” Steve said, thrown. “I didn’t think you did.”

 

“Because I would  _ not _ do that, and I do not want you to even think it might be a possibility--”

 

“Bucky!” Steve interrupted. “I know you wouldn’t. I know you.”

 

Bucky looked mollified, but he didn’t drop Steve’s hands. “Ok, then.”

 

“So,” Steve said, after a moment. “I guess we have a date tonight?”

 

“Guess so.” Bucky replied. He still looked a little stiff.

 

Well, they couldn’t have that. Steve leaned in and gave his hands a little squeeze. “Hey, it can’t be as bad as our last ‘appearance.’”

 

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, good point.”

 

Steve let go and stood, stretching his back as he did so. “Well, I need to go home and limber up for whatever the hell Tony has planned for us. I’ll see you in a few hours, I guess?”

 

“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

 

Steve took the subway home. As it bumped along, he found himself ruminating less on the date planned for that night and more on the moment before Tony had called. He remembered in great detail how still Bucky had held himself, holding his breath, and the tiny fleck of glitter he’d seen on the tip of one of his eyelashes. 

 

What would have happened if that phone hadn’t rung? Steve had no idea, nor any idea how to find out.

 

Still… the thought was enough to keep Steve distracted all afternoon, through the basic yoga routine he’d worked out and a half-hearted attempt at a new single. He was so distracted that when Peggy texted him a location and time for the date, it didn’t even occur to him to ask what the date was. 

 

The address he’d been provided was somewhere in East Williamsburg, so thankfully it didn’t take him too long to get to the place. 

 

Steve stared up at the imposingly blank wall of the warehouse, and checked his phone again. 

 

Definitely in the right place. He turned at the sound of a car pulling up.

 

Bucky emerged from the cab after a moment, spotting Steve and heading over to him.

 

Steve took a moment to take him in. He sported fitted white overalls with white converse, and was carrying a large white sunbag. He’d forgone a shirt and his tanned skin stood out in sharp contrast to all the white. His hair was held up with hairpins with small charms hanging off them, and his makeup shimmered even from where Steve was standing. 

 

“Not that I am in any way saying this is a bad look,” Steve said. “But I do recall our only advice for tonight being ‘dont wear anything you don’t want ruined.’”

 

“And you know what that sounds like to me, Steven? An  _ opportunity _ , is what.” Bucky tossed his head, the charms on his hairpins swinging wildly.

 

Steve shrugged his own hoodie-clad shoulders and grinned. “Once more unto the breach, then?”

 

“Might as well. It sounds kind of fun.” Bucky headed towards the doors.

 

“It does?”   
  
“Didn’t you ask Peggy what we were going to do? I figured you would have called her this afternoon.”

 

Steve was abruptly reminded of what train of thought had so distracted him that he hadn’t thought to call Peggy, and scrambled to think of an answer that wasn’t “thinking about you”.

 

He was saved, inadvertently, by the total chaos that was revealed when they opened the doors to the warehouse.

 

The entire warehouse floor was covered with large drop cloths, and people were running to and fro, carrying armloads of cans. The air was full of a metallic smell and the sound of the crowd.

 

“What the hell did Tony sign us up for?” Steve muttered. Bucky opened his mouth to answer, when they were interrupted. 

 

“Wolf!” a voice called suddenly. They turned to find Bucky’s friend from yoga walking up to them, who Steve suddenly realized was none other than Natasha Romanoff, the music journalist. She was covered in multi-coloured streaks, although the reserved woman trailing after her seemed relatively colour-free.

 

Bucky grinned. “Nat! What are you doing here? Okoye, nice to see you again.”

 

“What  _ is _ this, exactly?” Steve finally asked.

 

‘Nat’ swung a long braid of red hair over her shoulder, and held up two of the cans Steve was seeing everywhere. “You sign up for the event when you were asleep, or something? Pop up spray painting!”

 

Turning, Steve took in what was happening underneath the chaos. Groups of people milled around, comparing colours and styles and working on large pieces from every angle. 

 

Trust Tony, he thought, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Bucky and his friends. 

 

She was smiling at him, but also looking him over in a way that made him feel like he was being x-rayed. “Steve, always good to run into you,” she said, sticking out a paint covered hand. “Bucky and I go way back, from when I was blogging about his Youtube videos in his basement. But  _ you’re _ a new development,” she finished, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Uh,” Steve managed, thrown as always by the question. “You were at yoga, right?”

 

“Yep,” she said. “Which reminds me’--” she poked Bucky in the side.

 

“Hey!” he said, flinching.

 

“We talked about the jabbing, my dear,” Okoye interjected, taking Nat’s hand.

 

“Well, he deserved it. You haven’t been back in  _ weeks _ ,” she groused. “I have no one to argue with about the finer points of fashion week.”

 

“Oh, really?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I have sincere doubts. Okoye here hasn’t been keeping up her end of the conversation?”

 

Okoye smiled. “She thinks florals are only for spring.”

 

Bucky looked aghast. “Nat, we’ve  _ talked about this--” _

 

 “It’s not the same,” Natasha interjected. “Anyway. We have to get back to what we were doing. Want to chat later this week? I’m happy to talk more about the benefit, you know me. Steve, I’ll see you around too?” She fixed her laser stare back on Steve.

 

“Um, definitely,” he said, trying not to freeze.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to death stare my boyfriend, Nat. I’m sure Peggy and Shuri have plans for us to talk to you any time now. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Natasha flicked them a wave and walked back off into the crowd.

 

“Somehow I always forget the Romanoff intensity until I talk to her again… and then it hits me. Er. Not that that’s a bad thing.” Steve commented, trying for politeness. 

 

(And ignoring the thrill that shot up his spine when Bucky called him his boyfriend.)

 

“Oh, she’s definitely intense,” Bucky laughed. “How else do you thinks she’s managed to run a hugely popular music blog all on her own for almost ten years. She’s laser focused. But underneath that she’s also one of the most sneakily kind people I’ve ever met, and one of my favourite people in the industry.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Totally.” Bucky smiled. “Her weekly spotlight on barely-known artists really helped get me off the ground. And the last time I had to move and the movers crapped out on me last minute, she showed up with donuts and wine within an hour.” 

 

“Well, then I should definitely sit down with her again soon,” Steve said decisively. 

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bucky replied nudging him. “Let’s go figure out how to get started.”

 

It took some doing, but they finally managed to hunt down the person running the busy workshop. The man was so completely covered in paint they couldn’t make out his hair colour (red?), but his wild grin made it clear that was exactly as he wanted it.

 

“The world is your canvas, my guys!” he enthused, waving his arms around.

 

“...Sure,” Steve said. “But maybe we could start with… literal canvas?”

 

“Yeah, we got those too. Supplies are in the corner next to the speakers. You need any more help, my name’s Wade.” He dashed off into the crowd, whooping.

 

“Alrighty then,” Bucky commented. They made their way over to the supplies, gathered up a little bit of everything, and carted it all to a slightly quieter section of wall.

 

Bucky propped up the massive piece of canvas they’d acquired. They stood back and looked at it together, and then at each other.

 

“Any ideas?” Bucky asked. 

 

“Well,” Steve said, “I was thinking this might be an… interesting way to make an album cover?”

 

“Oh! Can we do that?”

 

Steve shrugged, picking up a can of teal paint. “No one’s here to tell us we  _ can’t _ …”

 

“Your punk is showing,” Bucky grinned at him, grabbing a can of electric yellow. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve smiled back. “I’m just teaching you how, jerk.”

 

“Well, lead the way then. Any ideas where to start?”

 

Steve eyed the canvas critically. “I was thinking neon tones with some dark underlights. A little avant-garde, but not too Pollock-y?”

 

Bucky hummed, considering. “Maybe focused on a hurricane motif? And probably with the colour scheme from the latest movie poster. There was a lot of electric blue, with some red highlights and mostly a grey background.”

 

“Yeah, good call.”

 

Spray painting, to Steve, turned out to be strangely soothing. The hum of the crowd behind them faded away as they worked.

 

“So,” Steve started, blending together some teal and yellow. “I liked talking to Wanda this morning.”

 

Bucky twitched, looking down at him. “Was that only this morning? This day has been a whirlwind.”

 

“I’ll say,” Steve replied. “It was good to talk to her again. When did she first start styling for you, anyways?”

 

“When we were both in college,” Bucky answered. “I did some modeling at FIT to make ends meet while I was in school. She and Pietro were the designers I was paired with. I didn’t know if we’d get along at first though, you should have seen the heels she tried to put me in for her first show.”

 

“What kind?”   
  
Bucky eyed him critically. “If I answer, will you know?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Probably not, but I gotta learn somehow.”

 

Bucky grinned at him. “Green converse stilettos.”

 

Steve blinked. “Oh, that’s--that’s a look.”

 

Bucky laughed. “It’s okay, Steve. You can say it: they were hideous. It was a mid-2000s thing.”

 

Steve thought about it. “Yeah, that checks out. Peggy convinced me to get frosted tips some time in 2001, and no, I’m not showing you the pictures.”

 

“ _ Really _ ?” Bucky mused. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “So they wouldn’t, say, come up on a dedicated Google search, or anything?”

 

Steve paused. “No. Definitely not. Hey, can I see your phone for a second?” He tried to grab it away from Bucky, who promptly swung it over his head.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky laughed. He flicked his finger against the screen, still peering up at it. “I tell you about the travesty that was stiletto converse, and I’m not allowed to look for --”

 

Which was as far as he got before Steve sprayed a line of lime green paint down the middle of his chest. 

 

Bucky looked down at the paint and then up at Steve, eyes narrowed. 

 

Steve gulped, but held his ground. 

 

Then Bucky snatched up a can of fushia paint and dove at him.

 

Laughing, they ran around each other for several minutes, spraying indiscriminately. 

 

Steve attempted to dodge around Bucky’s arm, but Bucky suddenly ducked his reach. He grabbed him around his waist, and brought them both to the floor with an  _ oof _ .

 

Bucky swiftly straddled Steve, locking him in place with his thighs. He brought up a can of white paint menacingly. “Is it time to revisit 2001 style choices, or do you plead mercy?”

 

“I give, I give,” Steve laughed. “You win.” He patted Bucky’s thighs, and then froze, as their position suddenly sank in. 

 

Heat rushed to Steve’s cheeks as he felt Bucky’s muscled thighs twitch against his sides. Dazed, he looked up at Bucky, meeting his eyes. 

 

Bucky’s hair had fallen in tendrils around his face, and he was flushed from running around. Streaks of green, fuschia, and yellow ran down his bare arms, and his face had been freckled neon by stray drops. His mouth was open as he stared down at Steve, still grinning, but with some kind of look in his eyes that Steve couldn’t quite make out.

 

A raucous cheer rang out next to them and Bucky started. 

 

“I must--must be crushing you,” he said quickly. He rolled off Steve, coming to lay next to him on the drop cloth.

 

“Oh, uh, nah,” Steve said. “Course not.” 

 

They both lay there a moment, nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing and the hiss of distant spray paint passing between them. 

 

Eventually Bucky hauled himself to his feet. He reached out a hand and dragged Steve to his feet.

 

_ Pull yourself together, Rogers _ , he thought, brushing himself off.  _ Focus _ .  _ Friends don’t think about their friend’s thighs _ .

 

_ Or how much they wanted to lick them, probably. _

 

Bucky turned to the canvas. “Huh,” he said.

 

Steve turned back to it and blinked. 

 

Evidence of their paint war was splattered all over their original design, with several added handprints and smudges from where they’d accidentally smacked into the canvas. It added a layer of chaos over their earlier work, and drew the eye. In the centre, two handprints stood out, barely touching each other.

 

“Well,” Steve said thoughtfully. “That works.”

 

After a few minutes of searching, they found Wade and got him to take a few good pictures of their piece, and arrange for him to store it until someone could come by to pick it up. 

 

“Want to come back to the apartment?” Bucky offered. “I need a shower, but then I’d be good to hang out more. I think you got paint in my underwear.”

 

“Wear a shirt next time, then.” Steve stuck out his tongue at Bucky. He hoped it concealed his blush at the mention of Bucky’s underwear. “But, yeah, for sure. I’d be down to hang out.”

 

They called for a car back to Bucky’s place, and Steve spent the drive wrapped up in his thoughts.

 

That was twice today that they’d gotten caught up in a moment of… what, exactly? Steve didn’t know. But there’d been something in Bucky’s eyes that he couldn’t put a finger on. 

 

He was attracted to Bucky, obviously. Bucky was beautiful, all long legs and perfect hair and little flecks of glitter. Steve wasn’t  _ blind _ . But there was more to it. He got caught up in the sound of Bucky’s laugh, in the way he scrunched his nose when he tried to remember something, in the focus he got when he was writing. In all the million little things he did just by being  _ Bucky _ .

 

Steve had no idea what that was.

 

Bucky nudged him, showing him his phone. It was a very blurry picture of Steve, his hair spiked out in all directions, with the tips of it bleached.

 

Steve rolled his eyes and grinned. 

 

They arrived at Bucky’s apartment before too long.

 

“You can shower too, if you want?” Bucky said. “Unless you really like looking like someone murdered a troll doll? You can always borrow something of mine.”

 

“Oh, yeah, if you don’t mind?” Steve said.

 

“Of course not. Closet is in the bedroom, second door.” Bucky grinned at him. “Anything but my favourite crop top--you know the one.”

 

Steve started down the hall towards the bedroom, and then stopped. He turned back to Bucky, eyeing him speculatively. “You know…” he started.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve borrowed your stuff a few times now, and your stylists have also made me over…” 

 

“And?”

 

“Well, fair is fair. You should try some of my stuff.”

 

Bucky hummed, considering. “OK, you’re on.”

 

Steve grinned. “Give me an hour.”

 

He called another car and headed back to his apartment. After he showered off the paint, he headed into his closet, yanking open all the drawers to his dresser.

 

He eyed his clothes, assessing his options. What kinds of things encapsulated Steve Roger’s style?

 

He thought about Bucky’s legs and thought again. What would  _ fit _ , was another good question. 

 

Finally, he managed to stuff a backpack full of a few selections, and headed back to Bucky’s apartment on his bike.

 

“Alright,” he said as he came through the door, “You ready for--woah.”

 

It looked like Bucky’s closet had exploded across his living room. The couches and tables were entirely covered with a wash of different fabrics, clothes hangers and accessories scattered every which way.

 

“I had a hard time deciding,” Bucky said sheepishly. “But I think I narrowed it down?” He held out an armload of clothes. 

 

Steve plopped the backpack down onto a nearby chair. “Sounds good to me. Want me to go first? I don’t think my stuff takes as long to... put together.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sure. I’ll make it easy for you--start with the clothes, here.”

 

“Haha.” Steve took the clothes and headed into the bathroom to change. 

 

They turned out to be fairly simple, for Bucky’s standards--electric blue shorts with improbable buckles, a hot pink sheer lace shirt, and an interesting jacket with a metallic silver print on it. He managed to pull it on without too much effort, although the shorts were tighter than he expected, and revealed more thigh than Steve was sure he’d shown in a dozen years. At the very least, you could actually see his winged lion tattoo for once, which was a nice change. He headed back into the living room.

 

Bucky gave him a strange look.

 

“Bucky?” Steve tried. Did he do something wrong?

 

Bucky seemed to shake himself, and gave him a thumbs up. “Good work. Now, accessories.” He handed Steve some boots.

 

Steve looked at them nervously. “These have... These have very large heels on them.”

 

“Yep,” Bucky said, popping the ‘p’. “But they’re platform, so it’s really more like they’re only four inches. Don’t be a baby, I’ll help.”

 

A few wobbly minutes later, Steve was standing up in the sequined platform boots. Clutching Bucky’s arm, he managed to take a few steps around the room (he was incredibly grateful for the built in ankle supports in the boots).

 

“This is exactly as difficult as I imagined it would be,” he muttered, sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

 

“Practice makes perfect,” Bucky replied. “Shift your weight forward. It’ll be easier. Now,” he continued, rubbing his hands together. “The most fun part. Makeup.” He helped Steve onto the couch, and dragged a large container up off the floor and onto the table, opening it to reveal a large collection of various jars and instruments of some kind. 

 

Steve blinked. “Do you use all of this at once?”

 

“Hush,” Bucky replied, looking determined as he wielded a sponge of some kind at Steve.

 

Steve sat as still as he could while Bucky worked through a huge variety of different products trying not to sneeze at the perfumes. There was a lot of the process that was familiar to Steve from photoshoots or TV appearances, but more that was completely new. He’d worn a bit of foundation and concealer before, but contour and highlight was new. Having to keep his eyes closed for the eyeshadow had been a little uncomfortable. Fortunately, Bucky let him know every time he was about to do something. It also helped that Bucky had a much more gentle approach than any of the makeup artists that Steve had dealt with before.

 

“Ok, now this part is going to be a little unpleasant if it’s your first time.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Eyeliner,” Bucky replied. “I need you to look up. No, just with your eyes. Keep your chin down.”

 

Steve directed his eyes toward the ceiling. He nearly jumped when he felt Bucky’s fingers grip his chin.

 

“I’m gonna start now. Try not to move.”

 

It was a challenge. The whole process felt like he was about to be stabbed in the eye at any moment. He trusted Bucky and tried his best to remain completely still, but despite that, he couldn’t keep from wriggling. 

 

On his fourth attempt, Bucky finally got frustrated. “Ok, that’s it,” he declared.

 

“What’s i--” Steve began. He choked on the sound when Bucky crawled onto his lap, legs straddling Steve’s hips and pinning him to the chair.

 

Steve went stock still. Bucky took full advantage of Steve’s shock and in two deft strokes, completely lined his eyes.

 

“There,” Bucky said, sounding slightly winded. “That wasn’t so hard.”

 

“N-n-no,” Steve said. The words sounded strangled. “I guess not.”

 

“I know it’s not the most fun feeling, but we’re almost done. I promise. One last thing. Kissy lips.” This last was a direction.

 

“Huh?” Steve asked dumbly.

 

“I need to line your lips. So purse them like you’re about to kiss me.”

 

“O-okay.” Steve did as he was instructed. Bucky leaned in close, pencil raised.

 

Steve held his breath. Bucky was scarcely an inch away from him, his eyes trained on his lips. He could smell the spicy scent of Bucky’s cologne. The warmth of his breath ghosted across Steve’s lips. He’d stuck his tongue out, the way he did when he was focusing on something. Steve tried hard not to think about what that tongue would taste like.

 

Bucky finished with the liner and moved to grab a small cylinder filled with a metallic blue liquid. Steve released the breath he’d been holding.

 

“Just a quick swipe of this across your lips and we’ll be ready to move on to the hair.” Bucky beamed at Steve and then quickly but deftly swiped it across his lips.

 

It was especially hard not to twitch when Bucky ran his hands full of product through his hair, styling it. He forgot to be embarrassed when he closed his eyes, relaxing into Bucky’s touch.

 

Almost suddenly, he was clambering off Steve’s lap, and handing him a pair of large, clip-on feather earrings. Steve tried not to sigh at the loss, and stuck them onto his ears.

 

“All set,” Bucky proclaimed. “Want to take a look?”

 

“Not yet,” Steve said, and grinned at Bucky. “My turn. I’ll need to borrow some pants, though. Mine’ll look like shorts on you.”

 

He went and dug through the piles of clothes on the floor until he finally found what he was looking for. He was relieved to be able to turn away from Bucky for a moment, and to have something other than the confusing feelings swirling around his head to focus on. He handed the pants and his backpack over to Bucky and shooed him towards the bedroom.

 

“What exactly should I be expecting here?” Bucky asked, turning back to look at Steve.

 

“Hush,” Steve mimicked, physically pushing him toward the bedroom. 

 

Bucky returned several minutes later. He crossed his arms across his chest, fidgeting. “What do you think?”

 

Steve swallowed against his suddenly dry throat.

 

Bucky in his clothes was apparently something he should have been emotionally preparing for, because he looked good. Like ‘my mama warned me about boys like you’  _ good _ . 

 

Steve had found Bucky’s most ripped up pair of jeans, and they complemented the bright red t-shirt with the anarchy symbol that was stretched tightly across his chest--tighter than it ever fit on Steve, that’s for sure. His narrow hips poked out between the shirt and his belt. The leather jacket that had always been a bit too large on Steve was almost cropped on Bucky, the patches and metallic pieces standing out brightly. A pair of his most beat up combat boots raised him up even taller off the ground.

 

He wouldn’t have looked out of place in one of the dark bars Steve had gone to as a teenager to hear real music, and it was absurdly hot.

 

Steve cleared his throat. “Looks great. Needs some last touches, though.” He pulled a can of hairspray from the side pocket of his backpack.

 

“Lie down.” He pointed towards the couch. “And dangle your head over the armrest.”

 

Bucky looked at him skeptically, but did as he was told. Steve settled onto the floor beside the couch so that he and Bucky were face to face, albeit, inversed.

 

He set about brushing out Bucky’s hair, gently ensuring that all the tangles were out of it. Bucky sighed and closed his eyes as Steve continued his ministrations. 

 

“Ok, now for the fun part. Teasing.”

 

It took a little while, but with dedicated effort and Steve’s industrial strength hairspray he got Bucky’s hair up into a monster of a mohawk. 

 

“There,” he said, grinning at his work. “Good to go.”

 

“Great!” Bucky said, and tugged him down onto the couch. He wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled out his phone, snapping a selfie.

 

With his arm still around Steve’s shoulders, he brought it down and opened up the picture for them to see.

 

“Woah,” Steve said. His eyes almost glowed in the middle of the deep blue and purple makeup Bucky had done around them. His eyelashes were twice as long and the metallic lipstick made his mouth stand out. It was dark and seductive, and a little intimidating.

 

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked. “I know it’s a big change from your usual, uh, lack--”

 

“Definitely!” Steve said. “I like the colours. It’s kind of a nice change from the basics.” He stood up, managing to get to his feet without too much wobbling. “And these are surprisingly more comfortable than I expected.”

 

Bucky stood up as well, walking a small circuit in the room. “Yeah, I feel like I could kick a door down.”

 

“Exactly,” Steve grinned at him. “You like it?”

 

“Totally. It’s much roomier than my usual stuff, and I feel… powerful. Like I can do whatever I want.”

 

“Definitely.” Steve snapped his fingers. “Hey, you know what we need to do now?”

 

“What?”

 

“Record that song.” 

 

Bucky nodded. “I’ll call Tony.”

 

An hour later they were in the recording studio, somehow the exact same one from their last attempt. Steve settled in at the guitar, still wearing the shirt and makeup, but with his own pants and boots back. The earrings brushed against his cheeks as he looked up to Bucky getting organized at the piano. Bucky’s mohawk swayed a little as he nodded back at Steve, the sleeves of the jacket pushed up his forearms.

 

Steve grinned at him, and looked into the sound booth where Tony, Shuri, and Peggy were watching.

 

“Everybody ready? Let’s rock and roll!”

 

_______________________________________________

 

**Boomerang posted from @OriginalHowlingCommando**

 

[Short video of Wolf and Steve Rogers in the recording studio. Steve is at a guitar and Wolf is at a piano. Steve strums something on the guitar, looks up at Wolf, and they both laugh. Steve is wearing a lot of makeup and long earrings, and Wolf’s hair is in a mohawk. Clip repeats.]

 

**OriginalHowlingCommando:** Making the magic happen in the studio. Thanks for the makeup Wolfy, this is the fanciest I’ve looked in a while.

 

**@OfficialWolf** : Check out that eyeliner game YOU’RE WELCOME.

 

**@FanGirling:** You’re both?? So gorge??

 

**@jvn:** Oh serving style swap realness hunny! You’re both too much. My queens <3<3<3

 

**@RingAroundTheMoon:** I can’t wait for this song!

 

**@MandM:** @OfficialWolf looks the kind of good that makes me understand why ‘daddy’ is making a comeback 

 

**@staunchlyblue:** Omg how much hairspray did that take?

  
Reply from  **@OfficialWolf:** You have no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! H-h-happy Birthday! (10 points to the person who gets this reference)
> 
> I would like you all to know that the ficus from chapter 2 is named Ferdy. He's doing just fine.
> 
> We'll try to get the next update out in a timely fashion, though I make no promises on behalf of either myself or mollus. Thank you guys for your continued support of this story. It really is what keeps us writing it.
> 
> Xoxo  
> The Authors
> 
> Edit from Mollus: breaking my silence here to inform ya'll if you intend to not deeply question your sexuality, learn from my experience and don't let someone do your eyeliner for you by straddling you. Dowager here can back me up


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: anxiety, dissociation

Bucky staggered through the door to his apartment, dropping his bag in the hall and shuffled vaguely towards his bedroom. His body screamed for sleep. He and Steve had finally called a wrap on recording around 3am. It had taken hours to get all the tracks—vocals, backing vocals, piano, guitar, strings—down and fine tune the mix until the producer and them were satisfied. They’d know in the morning if they were all actually happy with it or if they’d all just wanted to go to bed.

There was nothing more that Bucky wanted than to flop into bed and sleep for the next ten hours. Unfortunately, he desperately needed to shower. There was no way he was going to go to bed with a head full of Steve’s industrial strength hairspray.

He made his way into the bathroom, turning on the lights. His hair had deflated slightly over the course of the night, but not by much. It wasn’t something he’d be doing on a regular basis, but it had definitely been fun… and enlightening.

It had surprised him when Steve had suggested the persona switch. He knew that Steve appreciated his style now—he always made a point of complimenting some specific aspect of Bucky’s outfit—but he’d never have thought it would be something he’d want to try himself. Bucky had almost burst out laughing when Steve had finally seen himself. He’d been startled of course, but once he’d gotten used to it he couldn’t stop staring at himself. And once he’d gotten the hang of the heels… Bucky had seen the all too familiar power and attitude a good pair of heels could give sweep through Steve. It didn’t last very long (which was fair, he also remembered the blisters your first time brought on). Steve had swapped out the heels when they’d gone to the studio, but Bucky smiled to himself at the memory.

His smile took on a longing note the longer he thought of Steve in that outfit. Why Bucky had thought it was a good idea to put him in tight pants and a see-through shirt was beyond him. Apparently he had a masochistic streak because _fuck_. Seeing that much of Steve was almost too much, and yet not nearly enough.

It wasn’t that Bucky hadn’t found Steve attractive before—quite the opposite. The man embodied the term ‘angelic’ quite literally. He was beautiful and terrifying. It was just that he’d never seen Steve wearing less than three layers. Even his yoga gear had been big and loose, giving away nothing of the man underneath. 

And Bucky wanted… wanted more.

He peeled off his clothes and turned the shower on, almost as hot as it would go. As he let the water heat up, he considered the red anarchy shirt in his hands. Steve had been so excited to get him into it, and Bucky had been just as eager to put it on. It was old, and comfy, and smelled like Steve: earthy and fresh, like a forest on a wet spring day. He held the shirt up to his face and inhaled Steve’s scent, wondering idly if he could get away with ‘forgetting’ to return it.

Bucky shook his head, dismissing the idea, and threw the shirt into the hamper—the least he could do is return the shirt clean. He’d deny it if anyone asked, but he hoped that Steve didn’t do the same.

The water stung his skin as he stepped into the shower, the strong spray working tension out of his muscles. Steve was right, soft water pressure was the work of the devil. Steve who was probably also enjoying a shower right about now. Steve who had been pinned under him _twice_ that day. He couldn’t help wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. 

Nothing good, that’s for sure. 

He’d only just got Steve back and he almost ruined it again. Bucky shoved all thoughts away, concentrating solely on getting clean. It took him nearly an hour and his entire container of clarifying hair mask to get all the hairspray out and the water was starting to run cold, but at least it had given him something other than his feelings for Steve to focus on.

When he got out of the shower and toweled off he saw his phone blinking at him. At nearly four in the morning, there was only one person it could be: Steve. Bucky picked up the phone to check and saw he’d been correct. Steve had texted him not once, not twice, but _six_ separate times.

 **Stevie 3:34am:** How do you get this stuff off?

 **Stevie 3:37am:** No, seriously. This stuff is immune to water

 **Stevie 3:41am:** I hate you

 **Stevie 3:42am:** I realize this was my idea so… I take it back.

 **Stevie 3:46am:** K, apparently my face wash also doubles as a makeup remover. Wish me luck

The sixth text message was a photo of Steve in the bathroom wearing a crumpled t-shirt. His makeup was smeared and smudged all over his face making him look vaguely like a zombie. Steve’s facial expression was decidedly unimpressed, and he was clutching what appeared to be a formerly white washcloth. The caption beneath the photo read: “you know what? I take back that apology.”

Bucky smiled fondly at the picture Steve had sent and saved it to his camera roll. He picked up the empty hair mask bottle, holding it upside down. Snapping a quick selfie, he sent the picture off to Steve without a second thought.

 **Bucky 3:50am:** I had to use this whole bottle to get your hairspray out. Call it even?

 **Bucky 3:51am:** Anyway, I gotta get some sleep. Night. Sweet dreams. 

He shuffled out to his bedroom and flopped down on top of the comforter. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

___________________________

Bucky was sitting down to a bowl of yoghurt topped with fresh berries and granola when his door burst open. He was still picking himself up off the floor and righting the stool he’d been sitting on when Tony started throwing the confetti.

“Congratulations, Wolf!” he exclaimed, throwing yet another handful of the brightly coloured paper shreds in the air. Bucky frowned as a few landed in his breakfast. Shuri stood in the entrance to the kitchen rolling her eyes at Tony and looking apologetically at Bucky.

“Uh—thanks?” Bucky said, picking soggy confetti out of his yoghurt. “But, uh, what exactly am I being congratulated on?”

“‘Hurricane’, obviously _,_ ” Tony said, like it _should_ be obvious. “I played it for the studio today and they loved it. I mean _loved_ it. Hemsworth was _weeping_ by the end of it.”

“Sorry.” Bucky yawned. “Still a little tired. Brain’s not firing on all cylinders. But I’m glad it went over well.”

“Then drink some coffee. I need you alert. You’ll be meeting with the studio later this week to arrange press appearances. Don’t worry.” Tony continued, cutting Bucky off with a gesture. “It won’t be too much of a commitment, just an evening talk show here, a musical guest appearance there. But saddle up for the near future because this song is going to be _huge_ . I’m not talking just a Grammy, I’ll be shocked, _shocked_ I tell you, if you and Steve aren’t giving an acceptance speech at the Oscars.”

Shuri beamed at Bucky, giving him a thumbs up.

“And if this song does as well as I believe it will, Stark Records might be interested in producing an entire Howling Wolf album… if the two of you were interested.” Tony finished.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just kind of gaped at Tony, his mouth moving minutely. A warm feeling spread through his chest and down his body till his pride and happiness was shining out his wiggling toes. His body could hardly contain his excitement and he needed to _move_. Specifically, he needed to run as fast as possible over to Steve’s place. There was no one else he wanted to share this moment and this feeling with more than him.

“Thank you Mr. Stark—Tony,” Bucky stuttered. His hands were shaking. “Does Steve know yet?”

“Yeah, no. I’m not risking having something thrown at my head for waking him. Fool me twice and all that. I’ll let Peggy know and I’m sure she’ll tell him.” Tony clapped his hands together and smiled at Bucky. “I knew you’d be big when I signed you, but you’ve really outdone even my expectations with this one. But alas, I must be going. I’ll see you around, Wolf.”

Tony swanned out of the room in his usual whirling dervish and left Bucky and Shuri standing in the kitchen. Shuri bounced over to him, dancing in place once she reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she squealed. “I’ve never seen Tony this excited about an artist’s project. And he _never_ speculates about awards. This is big!”

“I know!” he shrieked back. He picked up Shuri and spun her around in the air.

“Put me down, white boy!” She laughed as she twirled, her braids fanning out behind her. Bucky set her down, but continued spinning himself. Shuri gripped the counter, steadying herself while the room stopped spinning around her. “I’m so proud of you, Bucky.”

“Thanks!” He crossed back to her, sweeping her up into another hug. “But you know I never could’ve done this without you. If you hadn’t talked me into this…”

“Yeah, I’m amazing.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Bucky’s head was still spinning. A Grammy? Maybe. Oscar? It would be a dream come true. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself—the song hadn’t even been released—but he couldn’t help the image that popped into his head of Steve and him standing on that stage with the statue in their hands. And the possibility of doing an _entire album_ with Steve…

His head snapped up. “I have to tell Steve,” he said, looking down at Shuri.

“You sure that’s wise? You heard Tony,” she reminded him.

“I have good reflexes,” Bucky replied. “Besides, I’m too excited and I need to share this moment with him. It’s just as much his as mine.”

Shuri rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, but she was smiling too. “Go on then. I’ve got some last minute benefit things to see to anyway, acts to confirm. Lady Gaga’s people just got back to me last night. How I let you talk me into putting on a full benefit concert in a little under two months, I’ll never know.”

“You’re the best Shuri!” Bucky said, rushing to his bedroom to change his sweatpants for jeans.

“Remember that in your Oscar speech,” she called as he rushed out the door.

Bucky pulled up to the curb outside Steve’s place in record time—he may have taken the speed limit as a light suggestion. He vaulted out of his car and into the lobby of the building, nearly smashing into the plate glass doors in his haste. The elevator took an agonizingly long time to reach the lobby. It dinged open just as Bucky was debating taking the stairs.

Finally he reached Steve’s door. He was half-tempted to let himself in—Steve had shown him where he kept a spare key, in case he had a bad flare up and couldn’t get to the door. He rapped his knuckles urgently on the door, deciding just waltzing in would be rude and presumptuous. 

It took a few minutes, but finally he heard vague shuffling from behind the door.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

He was in the same t-shirt from the picture last night and baggy flannel pajama pants. Bucky could still see some smudges of eyeliner around his eyes. He looked beautiful.

“Can I come in?” 

“Sure.” He stood aside letting Bucky hurry past him. “Whadd’re you doing here?”

“Tony just left my place,” Bucky said, turning to face Steve.

“Yeah, and…?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. A massive yawn distorted the question.

God, Steve was adorable when he was sleepy.

“The song,” Bucky answered. He was back to practically vibrating. “Tony played it for the studio people this morning. They loved it! We made Chris Hemsworth cry—allegedly.”

“That’s great?” Steve still sounded sleep-addled and confused.

“It is!” Bucky started pacing back and forth around Steve’s tiny foyer. “He’s already talking about the Grammys and the Oscars.”

“Holy shit!” Steve blinked. “He never gets that excited this early.” He was waking up a bit more now.

“I know! But that’s not the best part!”

“Ok, so what _is_ the best part, Bucky?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

Bucky took a deep breath. His smile threatened to become so wide it fell off his face. “He said that if the song did well, he wanted to talk to us about doing an entire _album_ in collaboration. Isn’t that amazing?”

Steve was a little stunned. Bucky could see the exact moment everything clicked with him because the smile that spread across his face made Bucky feel as though the sun was shining on him. “That would be… awesome,” he breathed.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, suddenly feeling shy. “You’d really want to do a whole album with me?” 

“Of - of course. I’d be crazy not to,” Steve said seriously.

Bucky felt as though his heart was about to burst. Suddenly he was on the other side of the room, Steve’s face in his hands. No thought registered in his mind, nor did what he was doing until his lips met Steve’s.

 Lightning went off in Bucky’s veins. His heart pounded in his chest. A sense of euphoria and relief and _rightness_ settled in his mind.

At least until his mind started working again. 

The lightning in his veins turned into daggers of ice. Bucky was hyper aware of every bit of his body, from his hands on Steve’s cheeks, to where their lips were pressed together. He could feel the rough chapped texture. The slight rush of air from Steve’s surprised gasp. The scratch of his five-o’clock shadow against Bucky’ palms.

Euphoria and relief morphed into dread and regret and slammed into him like an avalanche.

“I—I—” Bucky stuttered, releasing Steve. Steve’s eyes were like saucers, standing out on his pale face. “I didn’t mean—” He was at a loss. There were no explanations. Nothing he could say to recover from what he’d just done. So he did the only thing he could think: he ran.

“I’m sorry,” whispered, and was out the door. He didn’t stop to wait for the elevator, his fear and shame moving him down the nine floors of the building in a blur.

He stumbled through the lobby and out the door, coming to a rest in the small alley beside the building. Pressing his back against the hard brick, Bucky tried to catch his breath. His brain still hadn’t fully processed everything that had happened in the last few minutes, and as he stood there, the full weight of what he’d done fell down upon him.

The daggers in his veins pinned him in place. The ice moving to encase his mind as well as his heart. It was all a hazy blur, interrupted with painfully clear moments: Steve’s joy; the feel of his lips; the momentary rush Bucky had felt; the second he’d realized what he’d done; Steve stiff and frozen in his hands.

His body began operating without a driver. Bucky had left. Wolf had left. They’d gone somewhere unreachable. Somewhere wholly removed from the world where they were unaware of themselves or anything else. He was nothing; an empty shell.

__________________________

The first thing Bucky became aware of was weight. Then warmth. Then coolness. Then tugging. Then sound.

Slowly, Bucky returned to his body. He was in a dimly lit room that seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place why just yet. The weight and warmth were a pile of well-worn blankets that had been tucked around him. A damp washcloth on his forehead accounted for the coolness. He understood the tugging as fingers running through his hair, braiding it. He recognized the sound as a woman singing, but he didn’t recognize the language.

As his awareness came back, he realized he knew the song. It was an old Sokovian lullaby he’d heard Wanda sing countless times while working. Wanda.  This was Wanda’s living room. In Wanda’s apartment. Wanda was singing. And she was braiding his hair.

“What--what am I doing here?” he rasped.

He felt the fingers in his hair still. Suddenly Wanda swam before his eyes. Worry was etched in every line of her face.

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

“Is he awake?” Viz stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand.

“Yes. Bring the water. And would you grab some saltines too?”

Viz nodded and placed the water on the coffee table, within Bucky’s reach, before returning to the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a sleeve of crackers. He sat down next to Wanda, at the end of the L-shaped sofa, a matching expression of concern marring his usually stoic face.

Wanda helped Bucky to sit up, removing the cloth and a number of the blankets. Silently, she passed him the water and crackers. He choked down a few crackers, the water helping to ease them down his dry throat. His body still felt as though it wasn’t his own. All his movements felt just a little delayed, as though someone else were moving him while he watched, removed. The salt and water helped him feel a little more normal.

“How did I get here?” Bucky tried again, his voice still husky, though better than before.

Wanda and Viz exchanged a glance. “We’re—we’re not sure, Bucky,” she finally answered. “You just…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “…showed up.”

“What?”

“A little after one o’clock you knocked on our door,” Viz said. “You looked dreadful. White as a sheet, clammy, and you were shaking.”

“You weren’t responsive. At all. I kept shouting your name but it was like you didn’t hear me. Didn’t recognize me. Your eyes...” She shuddered. “They were empty. And you just kept saying ‘I fucked up.’”

Bucky didn’t remember any of this. Though his body did. He ached all over and he could feel the clamminess making his clothes cling to his body. The water had helped, but his mouth still felt impossibly dry, and his stomach felt hollow.

“What happened?” Wanda asked. “I haven’t seen you like this since—since you left home for good.” 

The memory of Bucky’s morning surfaced slowly, and with it so did the crackers. Viz and Wanda were prepared. They swiftly handed him an empty trashcan to retch the meager contents of his stomach into.

“I kissed him.” He whispered it. His head was still buried in the trash can, but Wanda heard regardless.

“What?”

Bucky winced at the volume of Wanda’s reply. He couldn’t place the emotion behind it. It wasn’t shock. Or horror. Or any of the other emotions he expected.

“I kissed Steve.” He looked at her this time as he said it. He couldn’t read her expression.  “Tony came by this morning and was excited about the single and a bunch of other stuff. I went to Steve’s place. I was excited, and happy, and just wanted to share it with him and—” Bucky’s breath started to catch, “—and I kissed him and I _fucked up_ and—”

“Shhh,” Wanda soothed. “You’re about to start spiraling again. Go take a shower. I’ll make us some tea and _then_ we’ll talk.”

___________________________

The shower did miracles for Bucky’s state of mind. His mind had finally thawed out and some of the panic had washed down the drain along with the water. He was by no means fine, but he no longer felt like he was going to fall apart.

Wanda had placed fresh clothes on the counter by the sink. He absently noticed that the ones he’d taken off had been placed in the hamper. Delaying the inevitable conversation, he dressed slowly. He knew he’d have to talk about it sooner or later, and he knew that he’d feel better after he did, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

Bucky made his way out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the kitchen. Wanda’s voice drifted towards him, along with the clatter of mugs and the slamming of the fridge door.

“—called you when he showed up. I’m sorry, Shuri,” Wanda was saying. “I didn’t think. I was more worried that I’d have to take him to the hospital.”

Wanda was quiet for a moment, listening to Shuri’s response on the other end.

“I know as much as you or Peggy at this point. I’m going to talk to him, but you’ll have to hear it all from him. Just…” She paused. “Take it easy on him when you do. He’ll stay here tonight. I don’t think he should be alone.” The room was silent again and then Wanda said. “Alright. See you tomorrow, Shuri.”

Bucky waited another minute before entering the kitchen. He needn’t have bothered.

“I know you were listening.” She looked up from pouring the tea into a cup before placing the pot back on top of the samovar and handing the teacup and saucer to Bucky. “Shuri called. She’s been frantically searching for you since you went A.W.O.L. I told her you were fine and not to worry. She knows a little of what happened. Apparently Steve and Peggy talked, and Peggy told Shuri. She’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

He tried to throw a grateful smile Wanda’s way, but it fell flat before it reached her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Wanda said. “She’ll want to know what happened from your side. And she’ll have her manager hat on just as much as her friend hat. So maybe you should start with me, since I only care as your friend.” Her dark eyes softened. “What _happened,_ Bucky?”

Bucky looked down into the dark liquid swirling around the teacup. He knew she was right, and knew he’d have to face this sooner or later. But he was also terrified. Knowing he’d have to talk to Shuri just reminded him of how royally he’d screwed up. It would be, well, not _fine_ , but tolerable to have just fucked up his personal life, but this mattered professionally. He was still going to have to see Steve. And worse: they would still have to pretend to be in a relationship.

“I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

Wanda stared blankly at him. “You said you kissed him. I think it’s pretty obvious what came over you.”

“I was just excited! I never should have agreed to this fake dating thing. It’s got my head and heart confused.” Bucky rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Bucky, you like him. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Wanda placed her hand on his wrist, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Do I?” He looked over at her, all the confusion and pain he was feeling held deep in his eyes. “Do I like him? Or have I just been so lonely that I’m tricking myself into thinking I do?”

Wanda took a deep breath. “This reminds me of an old Sokovian saying. Let me see if I can remember how it goes.”

He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.

“Ah yes,” she said, locking eyes with him. “Get your head out of your ass.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before something in Bucky snapped and he doubled over laughing. All the tension and anxiety and terror that had been living inside him rushed out in that one pure moment of ridiculous mirth.

“Are you sure that’s really an old Sokovian saying?” he finally asked, struggling to regain his breath.

“It sounds much nicer in Sokovian,” Wanda replied, snickering. “Nie ciahnicie košyk, pakuĺ vaš asiol jedzie. Translates directly to ‘don’t pull the cart while your donkey drives’  but I paraphrased.”

The laughter had been good for him. Wanda always seemed to know the right thing to say. He worried his lip, as the worry came creeping back.

“I just—How do I know, Wanda? How do I know what I feel is real?”

“Because you _feel_ it.”

Bucky took a sip of his tea. It had gone cold. Wanda took his cup, dumped out the cold tea in the sink, and refilled it. She handed it back to him along with two honey cookies she’d grabbed from the cookie jar. 

He dunked the cookies in the hot tea and them popped them in his mouth. Having the food in his stomach made him feel better. The warmth of the tea also helped. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until now. His stomach growled loudly and Wanda slid two more cookies across the counter toward him.

“Bucky can I—I need to say something as your friend, and maybe this will help.” She rotated the cup in her fingers.

“Yes?”

“I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. You haven’t been this carefree or confident in months, maybe even years. And I saw you two at the Met. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said you’d known each other for years. The two of you… you just fit.”

“But what if—what if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“What if he does?” she raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what this is really about?

Bucky glared at her. “That’s not helpful.”

“If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.” She smiled sympathetically. “You apologize for kissing him. You nurse your hurt, you heal, you move on. You know him well enough by now to know that that’s the worst that will happen. Will it be awkward and painful? Yes. But you will survive.”

“I don’t know if I will.”

“You _will_. You may fall apart first, but I’ll be here. And Shuri. And Carol. And Cassie. And all the other people who love you.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Bucky moved around the counter and wrapped Wanda in a hug. He tried to convey all his gratitude and love in that hug. He felt Wanda squeeze back  just as hard, and felt all of her love and support.

“And just think,” Wanda said, her voice muffled slightly by Bucky’s chest. He pulled back and she looked up at him. “He might tell you he feels the same way.”

Bucky tried to quell the flutter in his stomach at the thought.

“I’m ordering Chinese food, what would the two of you like?” Viz asked, popping his head into the kitchen. “I figured you’d both be hungry.”

“Wonton soup!” Bucky said as his stomach growled again. “And pork lo mein.”

_______________________________

From the Instastory of Chris Hemsworth:

 

[Camera is shaking slightly as Hemsworth walks through a nondescript white hallway. His eyes are red and puffy. Tear tracks are visible on his cheeks.]

 

Hemsworth: Hey guys. Just heard the new single, and saw an early cut of _Maelstrom._ Let me tell you… ugh— It’s just so amazing. Can’t wait for you guys to see this thing. In fact, I’m so excited that we’re gonna be launching a little contest. One of you is gonna win two tickets for you and a friend to fly to New York for the premiere. Check the link in my bio for more info. I really can’t wait for you guys to see this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted them to finally kiss.  
> Careful what you wish for. I am a cruel man and I will monkey's paw/genie your wish. 
> 
> This seemed like an appropriate way to close out the dreary month that is November, or as I call it, 'Shitty Winter'. Now it's up to mollus to to Merryweather my Maleficent-ing. Or who knows, maybe she's as cruel as I am. 
> 
> It'll turn out well, right? These two will have a mature and honest conversation about their feelings, won't they? Who's to say?
> 
> Muahahaha  
> xoxo  
> The Authors


	21. Chapter 21

Bucky’s hands left his face, and a high pitched whine filled Steve’s ears. He blinked twice at Bucky as they stared at each other. Bucky’s mouth moved, saying something, but Steve couldn’t hear him.

 

Then Bucky whirled on the spot and dashed out the door.

 

Steve stood frozen to the spot, one hand still outstretched; he’d been reaching up to touch Bucky’s cheek. 

 

It felt like an eternity. Slowly the whine faded, and the feeling came back to his hands.Tentatively, he dropped his arm and shook himself.

 

The front door stood open to the hallway. Bucky was gone. Probably had been for a while. It was too late to even call after him.

 

Too late to do anything. 

 

His stomach lurched and the high pitched whine threatened to take over again.

 

Steve swallowed carefully and straightened out the loose t-shirt and pajama bottoms he was wearing. He went to the door and gently closed it. Then he made his way to the spare room off the living room that he used as storage. From behind an amp and some crates he pulled out a long, flat box the length of his body. It was as heavy as he remembered, and he was cautious as he dragged it into the living room, mindful of his back. He laid it down and then sat next to it. He pulled out his phone and texted Peggy.

 

_ Hyenas in the Pridelands. _

 

Twenty six minutes later the door to his apartment flew open and Peggy came barreling into the living room.

 

“ _ Steve _ \--” she called, casting about wildly. Then she looked down.

 

Steve, still in his pajamas, looked up at her from a mess of boards, screws, and studs. The mangled remains of the cardboard of the box lay in a pile nearby. A third of a bookshelf sat next to him

 

“Oh, darling,” she murmured. “Not the emergency IKEA shelf.”

 

Steve swallowed, his jaw working. 

 

Peggy reached down and yanked off her shoes, and then plopped herself down next to him. She held out her hand. Steve passed her an Allen key and the instructions.

 

They worked in silence for a moment, Peggy inserting a stud into a board and Steve pushing two pieces together, trying to find some words.

 

“What  _ happened _ , Steve?” Peggy asked, finally.

 

Steve slowly put down the boards. “He, um,” he managed. “Bucky came over. He was really excited. Tony said, uh, Tony say we might be able to do an album together.”

 

“Yes,” she replied, watching him fiddle with a screw, “Tony called me this morning about  --”

 

“He kissed me,” Steve interrupted, finally looking up. 

 

Peggy blinked. “Oh. Goodness.”

 

Steve nodded. He still felt a little bit like he might shatter, so he picked up another board. Peggy helped him join it onto the completed part of the shelf.

 

“What did you do?” she asked.

 

“I, um,” Steve gulped. “I froze.”

 

Peggy winced. “Oh dear.”

 

“I’d just, uh, I’d just woken up. I wasn’t even wearing my glasses,” Steve said, darting a glance at her. “I thought I was dreaming, and I always wake up --” He dropped the screw he was holding, and it rolled away under the couch.

 

“Then what happened?” she asked gently.

 

Steve felt his jaw quiver. “He ran away.”

 

“What?”

 

“He just -- he turned and bolted. I think he said something but I was kind of, you know, flat lining, and I didn’t hear him and he left. And by the time I could… react, he was just... gone.”

 

Steve gestured jerkily at the bookshelf.

 

“And then I texted you, and now we’re building the, the fucking IKEA thing I had on hand in case of a freakout.”

 

It was like he could feel the terror radiating out from his body like a forcefield, numbing him from everything around him.

 

“What, uh. What the fuck do I do? This is the best... I’m just, I’m goddamned terrified. He’s my best friend, Pegs.”

 

He reached out a hand and Peggy folded it in hers. She waited a moment and then asked, “Did you want it? I know it came out of nowhere… but did you  _ want  _ it to happen?” She stared at him, her big brown eyes open and asking for the truth.

 

Steve swallowed. “I… yes. Fuck, yes absolutely.” He dropped his other hand into his lap. “I just. I thought it was me, projecting or something, Pegs. Because. You’ve  _ met  _ him, Peggy. He’s… he’s way more than I thought I would ever even come near. Let alone get to have.”

 

“He’s… he’s stardust, Pegs,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’m -- I’m just a rock. He’s so far beyond me.”

 

And that was it, really. That was why he froze. That was why he had the emergency shelf. Because he couldn’t even  _ imagine  _ about having that with Bucky. Sure, they could be friends. Somehow he’d lucked his way into their being best friends. 

 

But more than that? Having all of Bucky? It was beyond comprehension. It was a child’s fantasy. It was more than Steve Rogers deserved. Far more. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, the numbness finally dropping away.

 

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy whispered. She dropped his hand to scoot closer on the floor and threw an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her, trying to ground himself, as tears started to drip down his face.

 

“Listen to me, duck,” she murmured. “I’m not going to… deny, that love isn’t one of the most frightening things on the planet. But you know what’s worse than being frightened by it?” She ran a hand through his hair. “Pushing it away because you’re frightened.”

 

Steve swallowed thickly, scrubbing a hand across his face. “But he… he ran  _ away _ , Pegs. What if it’s because… because he didn’t mean it? And it was a mistake?”

 

“Well, I don’t know him as well as you do, Steve,” she considered. “But I don’t think he would have run away if it was a mistake. I think he ran away because it  _ wasn’t _ , and that scared the shit out of him.”

 

She smiled at him. “You’re peas in a pod, you two are.”

 

Steve blinked. “That… that hadn’t occurred to me.”

 

“Well,” she said, giving him a one-armed hug, “there’s a reason you write the nice words and I’m the brains of this operation, Rogers.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

Peggy moved away from him, and picked up her phone. “I am  _ happy _ for you, Steve. Even if this violates at least five clauses in that damned contract. Now. I am going to order some food and we are going to finish this bloody shelf.”

 

“I’m sure you’re busy Pegs, you can --” Steve started.

 

“Don’t even start with me, Rogers. I’m framing a picture of myself to put on this thing when we’re done, and we’re getting the good dim sum.”

 

Steve smiled. “Sounds good, Pegs.”

 

“You’re going to talk to him before the concert, right?” Peggy asked, picking up the instructions.

 

“I… yeah. Wanda and Pietro are helping all of us out with the clothes, and there’s a million details about the performances. I’m sure we’ll have some time before it happens.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

_ One Week Later _

 

Steve gazed out across the hustle and bustle that was the backstage area and sighed deeply.

 

Turning, he sat down on one of the amps and tweaked his guitar a little. The crew had already ensured that it was in tune and all the electronics were hooked up correctly, but Steve couldn’t help fidgeting.

 

“Oh  _ yes _ , Peggy,” he muttered. “I’m  _ sure  _ there will be  _ plenty _ of time to talk to him before the concert. We’ve got a whole  _ week _ , however could we avoid it?”

 

Because of course they hadn’t talked about it. Not even a little.

 

In fact, he’d barely spoken to Bucky at all. He’d be more upset about it, but the last week had been absolutely insane. He’d bounced from rehearsals to costume fittings to interviews and more that he couldn’t even remember. He woke up and dragged himself out of bed and went where he was told and then eventually someone would tell him he could go home and sleep. He’d get home and collapse until it was time to get up and do it all over again. 

 

He couldn’t even imagine what kind of work Bucky was doing, getting all of this organized. Steve had been doing his best to try and keep up with his social media feeds, but even those had petered out in the past few days. In the few that he was seeing, he’d noticed tiny lines growing around the corners of Bucky’s eyes, and a greyish tone to his skin, even as his smiles stayed bright and cheerful.

 

So he hadn’t heard from Bucky besides the odd Instagram photo share, and he was doing his best to understand and be patient. 

 

And a quiet voice in the back of his head, that sounded a little like Peggy, also suggested that he wasn’t exactly doing his best to maintain contact either.

 

Steve sighed again, and tried to put it out of his mind for the moment. He stood, and twitching with annoyance, yanked at the waist of his leather pants that seemed determined to slide down his hips. 

 

If only he was allowed to wear his suspenders on his shoulders, where they could be of some use, this wouldn’t be a problem. Instead, they were dangling down his legs, where they were no help at all, and for the first time in his life, Steve was actually concerned his pants might fall off during a show.

 

With concentrated effort, he left his pants alone. Wanda and Pietro had assured him up and down that the pants would stay where they were meant to, and they hadn’t lied to him yet.

 

Now if he could just get used to the breeze across his stomach, he’d be good to go. He was trying very hard not to regret agreeing to wear the midriff baring crop top the twins had dressed him in. Bucky had never mentioned how chilly crop tops got.

 

He reached up to his hair to feel it standing up in its reassuring mohawk, each spike gelled into a different colour of the rainbow. That, at least, was normal.

 

He turned to check in on the rest of the Commandos. Giving each of them a look over, he was relieved to see they all looked like their normal excited selves, doing the last of their usual set up routines. 

 

Morita looked like he was deep in his usual trashy vampire novel, while trying to ignore Jones who was, as usual, reading over his shoulder. Dugan was attempting to stretch, although it seemed like he was having some difficulty with his pants being tighter than normal. Dernier was flipping his drumsticks and eating a protein bar. Falsworth was running through some vocal exercises and seemed to be ignoring an adoring look from a stagehand, although Steve was pretty sure it was because he’d taken his glasses off for the show. 

 

The sound from the mainstage changed, and Steve realized Monae’s set was winding to a close. He waved a hand at the band, and they all hurried over. Steve exchanged a nod with all of the Commandos in turn, and then the stage manager appeared from the wings to point him toward the main stage. 

 

They got out into position, and then all thoughts dropped from Steve’s mind as the lights surged up and the crowd roared.

 

He lost himself in the music as usual, riding high on the noise of the audience. God, he loved this. Everything he was worried about fell away as he got caught up in the surge of performing. His fingers felt like they were on fire as they danced across the fretboard of his guitar. His throat went raw as he screamed out the lyrics that made him who he was. The Commandos blasted through the music with him, nailing every chord and feeling the high of a perfect harmony. It felt like only minutes had passed when he was bringing them into their last chord, slamming it into his guitar as Dugan’s drums echoed. In a haze of endorphins he led them offstage, where Peggy was waiting.

 

“Excellent work as usual, boys,” she commented. She turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow. “Did you  _ need _ to chuck your boot at that man’s head?”

 

Steve shrugged and grinned back. “Yes. He pulled out a sign with some slurs I took offense to. Free speech doesn’t mean freedom from consequences, doesn’t it?”

 

Peggy grinned and kissed his cheek. “You’re not wrong, Rogers. Now, if you’ll follow Andrea over there, you can see the rest of the concert from the side stage.”

 

Steve, gait only slightly uneven from the lack of footwear, and the Commandos followed the friendly woman with the headset over to a smaller area off the side of the stage, where a few of the other performers had seats and were taking everything in. Lady Gaga’s drummer ended up taking a seat next to him, and Steve realized he knew him from a few industry events. They chatted through a few more of the performances, when the lights started to dim dramatically.

 

“Awesome,” the drummer, Carl, said, “I’ve been waiting for this one the entire night.”

 

And Steve realized with a jolt that it was time for Bucky’s set.

 

Glowing white lights lit up the bottom of the stage, but he didn’t see Bucky anywhere. He frowned in concern. Was there a problem?

 

Suddenly a spotlight swept up towards the ceiling, and his questions were answered.

 

Bucky was perched on a platform descending slowly from the rafters.And he looked… transcendent.

 

A pure white cropped bodysuit, closer to lingerie than anything else, hugged him tightly from his chest to the tops of his thighs. Fringe trailed across the tops of his legs, rippling slightly in the breeze. From his shoulder a massive ruffled cape draped all the way to the floor, pooling around his feet and creating the illusion that he was standing on a frothy blue cloud. From the bottom it started as a deep inky blue, and faded as it ascended into an intense pink. The whole thing shimmered, ethereal, in the light. His heels had him standing sky high, and his hair cascaded back from his forehead, held in place on each side by jewelled clasps that sparkled pink and blue.

 

As Steve watched, Bucky brought the hand not holding the railing of the platform up to his lips, clutching a microphone. His eyes closed, he started to sing acapella, the opening notes to  _ Living Truth _ . 

 

His voice drifted out across the screaming crowd, and under the lights, he shone.

 

Steve’s own voice echoed back to him from a week before.

 

_ He’s stardust, Pegs. _

 

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing until Dernier whacked him on the arm and he realized he’d started to list slightly in his chair. He sucked in a breath, coughing, trying to focus.

 

“He’s got a hell of a gift, your boy,” the drummer commented. He looked like he was in as much transfixed awe as the crowd. 

 

“Sure does,” Steve managed, wheezing. The drummer snorted, and passed him a water bottle.

 

Steve spent the entire time Bucky was on stage drinking water and staring at the space slightly above Bucky’s head, afraid of what he might do if he looked directly at him. Every time he tried to take it all in--Bucky’s voice, how he looked, everything--his head started to spin and body started to vibrate with need.

 

Bucky was incredible.

 

He finished his set, and ended up taking two encores as the crowd screamed for him to come back. Steve’s hands went numb from clapping.

 

Finally, the crowd quieted slightly, and Bucky lifted the microphone again.

 

“Tonight--” He paused, taking a breath. “Tonight has been one of the greatest nights of my life and I need to thank you all so much for coming and supporting this cause.” A wild cheer tore through the crowd and it was several long moments before Bucky was able to speak again. “I have to thank, from the bottom of my heart, my fellow performers who rearranged busy schedules so that they could be here tonight. We don’t have a final count, but last I was told, we’d raised nearly half a million dollars for the Trevor Project and the National Center for Transgender Equality.” He took another pause as applause and screams erupted. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, hardened with conviction. “You are right. You are right for being you and wanting to be you. You are allowed to be you. You deserve to be you. You deserve to love and be loved.” It was obvious to Steve that any pretense of being Wolf had fallen away. It was just Bucky standing on stage saying these words, voice choked with emotion. “Love is transcendent, and love is stronger than hate. Love is frightening too. If you’ve been denied it, or denied it to yourself, love can be downright terrifying. You might run from it, but I’m here to tell you:  _ don’t,  _ you’ll only regret it. Embrace love when it is there. Feel it. Move toward it. If you run from it, you’re only letting those who told you that you’re wrong for being you win. Choose yourself. Choose happiness. Choose love.” 

 

He smiled out at the crowd, his honest Bucky smile, and Steve’s heart felt like it was simultaneously breaking and mending, all at once.

 

As a canon of heart-shaped confetti exploded over the crowd, Bucky took a final bow and disappeared to the opposite side of the stage, and the chaos of a finishing event started to unfold around Steve. The drummer shook his hand and took off, and Steve set about gathering up the Commandos to try and figure out what to do next.

 

Taking it all in, he sighed internally. He’d had a faint hope that he might be able to see Bucky after the show, but he’d almost certainly be too busy to talk. 

 

Just as he was considering all this and trying to figure out how to track down Peggy, Shuri appeared at his elbow.

 

“Cover for us,” she told the Commandos, grabbed one of Steve’s suspenders, and started dragging him away.

 

Steve almost tried to resist, but quickly realized he’d either be going with his infernal pants or they’d be leaving without him. He scrambled to keep up with Shuri.

 

“Shuri, what-- where--”

 

“Hush, we’re almost there.”

 

She dragged him through the backstage and then around a corner to a hallway Steve hadn’t even noticed. They came to a halt in front of an unmarked door.

 

Confused, Steve turned to Shuri, but she already had a hand on her headset and was talking to someone else. She gestured at the door, and then turned and strode off.

 

Steve looked at the door and then knocked on it hesitantly.

 

Bucky’s voice called from within. “Come in?”

 

______________________

 

Youtube video from July 20, 2019

 

User MyHarto posted a video “My Drunk Kitchen: Salted Caramel Irish Whiskey Brownies of Rainbow Joy”

 

6 minutes 23 seconds

 

[Blonde haired young woman holds up mixing bowl with batter in it and a shaker of salt]

  
“-- so you’re going to want to  _ generously  _ splash in that sea salt, because these need to taste like the tears of joy that slid down my face for the entirety of that concert. Then we’re going to dump in the rainbow sprinkles because seriously: joy. Words cannot describe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue Eta James*
> 
> We're back! I know it's been a while, but as Dr. Ian Malcolm said "life finds a way." I know he was referring to the reproduction of only female dinosaurs, but in this case it refers to "finds a way to keep us too busy to write." 
> 
> Anyway....  
> Here's the follow up to Bucky's Big Kiss.
> 
> Bucky is a coward.  
> Steve is a coward.  
> Mollus and I are cowards.
> 
> Thank God for Peggy and Shuri.
> 
> Next chapter hopefully soonish?
> 
> xoxo  
> The Authors


	22. Chapter 22

The door swung shut on silent hinges. A dim light suffused the bar, briefly punctuated by neon signs advertising different brands of beer. She wove her way through the mess of tables, scanning the room for a familiar head of curls.

No sign of her at the bar, though it was hard to make out anything there, crowded as it was. As she made her way further toward the back of the bar and the booths populated by what were very clearly the ‘regulars’, she caught sight of a bright red pair of lips. Bingo.

Shuri slid into the booth opposite Peggy, dropping her bag from her shoulder with a sigh of relief.

“Thank  _ Bast  _ that that’s over with. I thought I’d be at the venue until dawn. Maybe I’ll finally be able to get some sleep.”

“Yes, but what a remarkable job you did organizing it,” Peggy replied with a smile. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“By all means try. You can do the next one.”

Peggy laughed. “No, I don’t think I shall. Steve is enough of a handful without adding organizing a last-minute benefit concert.”

Shuri glared at Peggy, without any real heat. “Your boy’s a bad influence, I think. Bucky wasn’t nearly this stressful before he came along. So what are we drinking?” 

“Bourbon. Neat. I took the liberty of ordering a bottle. Bruce should be by with it and two glasses in a moment.”

“As long as you didn’t get the cheap stuff,” Shuri said, flipping open a food menu. “If I got the app platter, would you have some?”

Peggy scoffed, offended. “I would never! I’d sooner drink nail polish remover. And yes. Order the apps.”

Bruce came by with the bourbon, a bottle of King’s County, and the glasses. He placed it on the table along with two glasses. “You know, Peggy, I do make my own bourbon if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Bruce darling, but I think Shuri and I would prefer to keep our teeth inside our heads, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You wound me, Peggy. Hi there,” he said, turning to Shuri. “I’m Bruce.” He smiled and stuck out his hand.

Shuri shook his offered hand and smiled back. “Shuri. Nice to meet you. How do you and Peggy know each other?”

“Steve invited you to one of the Commandos’ Christmas parties, didn’t he?” Peggy asked.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly. “As I recall it, he all but dragged me there and begged me to bring some of my bourbon, claiming he ‘needed moral and alcoholic support.’”

“Didn’t he also tell you it was an ugly sweater party?”

“I don’t think we really need to talk about that right now. Is there anything else I can get you ladies?”

Shuri put in her food order and tacked on an order of churros. A loud crash and a chorus of yells came from the bar and Bruce took off quickly to deal with the commotion.

“Sounds like a fight,” Shuri mused.

Peggy grimaced. “For their sake I hope someone just bumped into a table. Bruce has uh—let’s just say he has a zero tolerance policy for violence in his bar.”

Shuri’s eyes widened. “That guy?” The disbelief was evident in her voice. “He seems so mild-mannered. I can’t see anyone being scared-off by him.”

“Trust me.” Peggy leaned in conspiratorially. “You don’t want to see Bruce get angry.  Tony came in here one night, had a bit too much, started to get into it with smarmy bloke and well... Tony doesn’t even walk down this street anymore.”

“Got it. Don’t piss off Bruce.” She took a sip of her bourbon and relaxed back into the vinyl of the booth. Peggy did the same, though even relaxed she never lost the air of authority and control that Shuri so envied. They sat in companionable silence enjoying the bourbon and the feeling of a job well done. 

The benefit had been a monster to organize, but it had gone off without a hitch, and Shuri was feeling a much-deserved sense of accomplishment. The only spot marring an otherwise perfect night was the spectre of anguish that had been hanging over Bucky’s head for the last week (and Steve’s, by what little she’d seen of him). Even thinking of it brought a familiar tightness back onto her face. 

Bruce came by a moment later with their food, a smile on his face and a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. The ruckus at the counter had quieted as had the entirety of the bar. Shuri could now make out the sound of music over the din of conversation. She groaned when she recognized it as one of Wolf’s.

“Now that’s not the reaction I’d expect from his manager,” Peggy commented wryly, taking a sip of her bourbon before deliberately plucking a mozza stick from their heaped platter of food.

Shuri grabbed a mozza stick of her own, dipping it in spicy marinara sauce. “I love him, love his music,” she said, waving the fried cheese around and accidentally sending sauce flying. “But every so often…” She trailed off meaningfully.

Peggy smiled, dabbing her mouth with a napkin and loading jalapenos and guacamole onto some chips. “Oh I’m just teasing. Believe me. There are days I’ve left the supermarket just because a Commandos song started playing.”

“Exactly. Sometimes you just need to not hear it for a while.” She bit into the mozza stick and moaned. “Whoever thought to deep-fry a piece of cheese. They’re the real genius.”

“So,” Peggy said, moving her pile of nachos onto a small side plate. “Speaking of our boys…”

Shuri shrugged. “I got them in the same room together.”

Peggy raised a glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” 

They clinked glasses and both of them rolled their eyes. After a long moment and several more mouthfuls, Peggy looked meaningfully at Shuri.

“Do you think it’ll work?’

Shuri paused, dipping a wing into the hot sauce as she thought about it. She took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I don’t know, Peggy. I hope it does. It was—It was bad, Peggy. I haven’t seen B-James like that since…” She stopped herself. That wasn’t her information to share. 

Peggy reached across the table and put her hand over Shuri’s. “You can call him Bucky with me. Steve let it slip. He wasn’t doing any better than Bucky was that day,” she said in response to Shuri’s shock. “Don’t worry. No one else knows and I won’t say anything.”

Shuri downed the rest of her bourbon in one go. Peggy refilled her glass without a word.

“If I could just  _ make _ them talk!” she exclaimed, tossing a hand with no small amount of exasperation.

“Barring locking them in a room until they figure this thing out, I think you did your best.” Peggy finished her own drink and poured another.

Shuri just laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t think that’ll work a second time. But hopefully the surprise attack angle will.”

The conversation lapsed for a little while as the two women picked at the appetizers. Suddenly Shuri pushed the platter away from her, frustrated.

“I’m  _ not crazy,  _ right? I’m not seeing something where there’s nothing?”

“If you are I am too,” Peggy said, equally exasperated. 

“Steve and James?” Bruce was standing at the end of the table. Neither of the women had noticed him come over. “They’re both head over heels for each other. Stupidly, so. But neither of them realizes it. Somehow. Are you done with that?” He pointed to the platter which only had crumbs and one lonely deep-fried pickle on it. They both nodded silently. Bruce grabbed the platter and walked away.

Shuri gestured emphatically at the man’s retreating back, eyes wide and brows raised.

Peggy pinched her brow. “If they’d just talk about their feelings for _ten seconds_ —”

“But  _ noooo, _ ” Shuri interrupted. “They’d both rather just mope around in their denial angst fest.” She was starting to feel the bourbon now.

“If they’d both ju—just put on their big boy pants and  _ make a move _ .” Judging by the slight slur and hiccough, Peggy was also starting to feel the effects of the bourbon.

Shuri laughed at Peggy who was blushing slightly. “Isn’t that the problem? That Bucky made a move?”

“Unfortunately yes,” Peggy mused, “the classic ‘Snog and Dash’. And how well did that work out? Hmmm?”

“Your point is well taken,” Shuri replied, tipping an invisible hat to Peggy. 

“It wasn’t the strongest move”

“Ugh, white people!”

“Excuse me?” Peggy gasped, clutching her chest. She could only hold the expression of offense for two seconds before dissolving in a fit of giggles.

“White  _ boys _ !” Shuri corrected, giggling.

“I’ll drink to that.” Peggy raised her glass and Shuri mirrored her before they both threw back the drinks. A thought occurred to her as she poured them another round. “Shuri, darling?”

“Mmmm?”

“The boys are doing your brother’s show later this week, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought we’d agreed: no business tonight.”

“I was thinking of this more as... friends meddling for another friend’s own-good.” She took a sip, giving Shuri conspicuous side-eye.

Shuri caught on in less than a second. “I like the way you think, English. I’ll call T’Challa tomorrow.”

The rest of the evening passed calmly, Peggy and Shuri slipping further and further down the rabbit hole of inebriation. Bruce brought them the plate of churros they’d ordered, as well as subtly placing a pitcher of water on the end of the table.

“I’d better get going,” Shuri said standing up and only stumbling a little. 

Peggy rose too. “I’ll walk you out. I should be on my way too.”

They sashayed to the door and up to the street to wait for the cars they’d called. As a black SUV pulled up, Shui roped Peggy into a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “See you later. Send me a text when you get home.”

“Careful,” Peggy laughed, returning the gesture. “Angie will think you’re trying to woo me away.”

“I would never!” cried Shuri, climbing into the car. “She bakes me cookies. Besides,” she added, “you’re not really my type.” With that she winked and slammed the door.

“Rude!’ Peggy shouted after the SUV as her own car pulled up to the curb.

_____________________

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what had happened when Steve had walked through the door. It was a little hard to remember with the alarm sirens that had started screaming in his brain. He had the vague sense that they’d stared at each other for a few minutes. Bucky thought he’d complimented the Commandos’ performance—he’d watched it from a hiding place in the wings—and Steve had… definitely said something? Possibly returned the compliment? He remembered being a little embarrassed to still be dressed in his over-the-top costume.

They’d said more than that. They must have. Nothing important, at least Bucky didn’t think so. Somehow ice cream had been suggested. Bucky was pretty sure that had been Steve’s idea. It was all a blur. But when he’d emerged from his dressing room having changed, Steve had still been there, waiting for him.

Presently, the air was full of the arrhythmic tings and clinks of spoons on glass and the pleasantly over-sweet scent of vanilla ice cream. Bucky sat a little too straight and a little too stiff in the booth across from Steve. He was all tense, coiled muscle that had nothing to do with the chilly air of the ice cream parlour and everything to do with his internal battle against his flight instinct. 

A dish of cookie-dough ice cream sat, untouched, before him. Across from him a similar, empty, bowl sat in front of Steve.

Silence loomed over both of them, so heavy that it felt like a third person sitting at the table. It had been like this since they’d left Bucky’ dressing room nearly an hour ago. 

He had to keep telling himself that this wasn’t a mistake. That he owed Steve an apology and that this was his long overdue chance to say something.

The only problem was that he didn’t know what to say.

How do you say ‘sorry for kissing you. I’m not sorry that I did it. Only that I am. But for reasons that aren’t that I regret it. Only I do. But not because I didn’t want to kiss you. I very much wanted to kiss you. Want to kiss you. Because I think I love you. But you don’t know that. You should. I should tell you or should have or... Only that’s hard to say. Because of feelings reasons. And freaking out didn’t make any of this easier. And… and… and…?’

_ Fuck. _

Why was it so easy to say what he felt while he was standing in front of an audience of thousands, but so  _ goddamn difficult _ when he was face to face with the man he was pretty sure he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with. Bucky took a deep breath and reminded himself of what Wanda had said ‘ _ nie ciahnicie košyk, pakuĺ vaš asiol jedzie _ .’

“What?”

Bucky’s head snapped up, eyes immediately connecting with Steve’s. “What?” he croaked. 

“You said something in… I’m guessing Sokovian,” Steve said with a nervous chuckle.

_ Shit! _ He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Uh—yeah,” Bucky said, blinking owlishly. “Just—uh—just something Wanda said to me recently.”

“What’s it mean?”

Panic flashed through Bucky and his eyes dropped to the tabletop. He seized the panic before it could spill out everywhere and shoved it down. Wanda and Shuri were right, honesty was the best policy and he wasn’t about to run away from Steve a second time. “Uh—uh—basically that I’m being an idiot.” He looked up again. Steve looked as tense as Bucky felt.

“Uh… yeah?” Steve asked, hands worrying shreds off a napkin.

Bucky breathed deep. This was it. He reached across the table and grabbed Steve’s hands in his, making sure that Steve was looking at him. Steve’s hands stilled, his eyes widening.

“I made a huge mistake. The other day. With you.” Bucky was impressed that his voice only broke a little.

“O-oh. A... mistake?.” Steve’s face paled.

“Yeah.” Guilt clawed at Bucky, but he pressed on, refusing to give into his fear. “I really shouldn’t have done that; out of nowhere like that. I was excited and happy and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I let my feelings get the better of me and put you in an uncomfortable position.”

Steve’s fingers started to wriggle again. Bucky squeezed them, trying to be reassuring, but the anxious movement also made his heart drop into his stomach. Steve was probably trying to figure out how to let him down easy.

Bucky swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He knew Steve’s rejection was going to hurt, but he hadn’t expected it this much. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep tears from spilling over. He’d tried to tell Steve how he felt, and clearly Steve didn’t feel the same, was clearly uncomfortable. 

In that moment, Bucky made a decision. He valued his current relationship with Steve too much to throw it away by pressing Steve for anything more. “If—if you can forgive me, I hope we can go back to how things were before I fucked up so monumentally.”

Steve extracted his hands from Bucky’s. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his wrists, staring down at them.  Bucky had never seen that look on Steve’s face and he couldn’t parse it. “Um—yeah—yes. I—I forgive you? We can—uh—we can go back to…” Steve looked up at Bucky, his face still inscrutable. “Like it was before.”

Bucky sagged with relief. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but it was something he could live with. Steve was still in his life. Steve didn’t hate him.

“It’s—uh—it’s getting pretty late, isn’t it.” Steve looked around at the empty ice cream parlour and the lone employee who was stacking chairs on top of tables. “We should probably head home. Got that interview tomorrow on GMA tomorrow.” He stood.

Bucky got up quickly and followed him to the door. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” Steve opened his mouth, and then shut it.

“Goodnight, Steve.” The whole moment felt stilted and awkward and made Bucky hate himself even more for ruining this.

“G’night, Bucky.” Steve tried to smile, but it looked forced. He waved and then turned to walk away.

Bucky pulled out his phone, trying to hide his face and hold everything together.  

“Hey, Buck?” he heard Steve’s voice call.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked hopefully, looking up from his phone.

Steve stood down the block, his face still pale but looking clearer than a moment ago. “D’you… d’you maybe wanna get together later this week? We can practice for the song’s big debut on  _ Vibing _ . Maybe grab dinner afterwards?”

Bucky smiled. It wasn’t what they’d had, but it would get there again. This olive branch of Steve’s was proof of that. “I’d like that, Steve.”

With that, Steve turned and headed on his way. Bucky closed his eyes, willing the tears not to fall, at least not until he was home. He would get over this, somehow, but right now he needed to feel his hurt. More than that, he needed to wallow. Just for tonight.

______________________________

“That’ll be the pizza,” Carol said getting up from her place on the floor. “Anyone want something to drink while I’m up?”

“I’ll take some lemonade,” Wanda said without looking up. She was too focused on the complex braid she was doing on Bucky’s head.

Bucky turned to answer Carol, earning a light tug from Wanda reminding him to stay still. “I’ll take some too.”

Bucky smiled to himself as he sat there on the floor in front of Wanda. She’d been proven right, yet again. One text to his friends and they’d come straight over. It hadn’t mattered that it was practically midnight. Carol and Wanda had shown up with pints of ice cream, DVDs, and a pizza already on the way. He hadn’t bothered Shuri, aware she’d gone for a meeting after the concert with Peggy.

Carol came swaggering back into the living room carrying the lemonade but without the pizza. “So turns out that that wasn’t the pizza,” Carol said. She passed Bucky and Wanda their drinks and took a seat next to Wanda on the couch.

“Then who was at the door?” Bucky asked, confused.

“ME!” Cassie yelled, bounding into the room and throwing herself at Bucky.

He barely had a chance to react before his lap was full of squirming eleven-year-old. Unfortunately that meant that the glass of lemonade went all over the both of them.

“Ugh, Cassie!” Bucky said through his laughter, squeezing her tight.

She had the good grace to look sorry about the mess, but she returned his hug as tightly as she could. “My bad.”

Bucky lifted her off him, getting to his feet. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, making his way to his bedroom. He needed to change and rinse off the sticky juice, and so did Cassie. He was pretty sure he had some of her clothes lying around from a previous time he’d babysat her.

Cassie trailed him into the bedroom. “A work emergency came up with Daddy, and Mommy is out of town on business.”

“And you came here?” Bucky asked, a little concerned.

She shrugged and accepted the clothes that Bucky passed her. “Daddy brought me.” That was all she said before disappearing into the bathroom to wash off and change.

“But—”

“Don’t worry,” Carol said. Bucky turned. She was leaning against the door clearly trying not to laugh. “Scott texted me and asked if Maria and I could look after Cassie tonight. I told him to bring her here. Figured you could use all the moral support you could get.” 

“Thanks, Carol.”

A loud knock came from out front and both heads snapped to it. “That the pizza, or is there anyone else you invited?” Bucky asked.

“Nope, that’s the pizza.”

“PIZZA!” Cassie tore out of the bathroom and towards the living room.

Bucky heard Wanda get the door and headed into the bathroom to clean up and change. He scooped up Cassie’s pile of discarded clothes from the floor and threw them in the hamper before adding his own. By the time he made it back to the living room, Carol was already three slices deep in the pizza with Cassie not far behind her. Wanda was making a meal almost entirely of garlic fingers. 

He sat down and grabbed his own slice of pizza and Wanda passed him a fresh glass of lemonade. A cloud of melancholy still hung over his head, but it was dissipating. It would linger for a while, he knew, but in this moment, surrounded by his friends who loved him and he loved things didn’t seem as bleak.

Cassie’s presence was a two-fold blessing. She didn’t know about the publicity stunt. She really believed he and Steve were dating. It meant that Bucky didn’t have to talk about it.

Bucky finished his slice and popped a movie into the DVD player. 

“What’re we watching?” Cassie asked, taking her fourth slice of pizza.

Bucky tousled her hair and popped one of her discarded crusts into his mouth. “One of my favourite movies of all time:  _ Singin’ in the Rain. _ ”

Wanda sighed heavily from the couch. “Really? Again? Haven’t you seen this movie a million times?”

He grinned back at her wolfishly. “I have, and I plan to see it a million more times. Get used to it.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but settled back down into the couch. Bucky turned off the lights and sat back down in front of her. She resumed her braiding of his hair as the overture played over the credits. 

Cassie snuggled up next to him, yawning wide. She was asleep before the end of the first song; all of them were asleep before the half-way point of the movie.

___________________________________

Posted to the Instagram of @dp.wilson

[Front facing camera shows a man covered with scar tissue in the crowd of Wolf’s benefit concert. “Ok, ok, I’m gonna do it. Gonna take Wolf’s advice. Excuse me--could you please record this?” He hands the camera to a woman in the crowd. He approaches a shorter brunet man and taps him on the shoulder before going down on one knee. The second man claps his hands over his mouth. “Pete. I’ve loved you for my entire fucking life, and I know that we haven’t been actually dating for very long, but damn it you’re my best friend so I gotta ask… marry me?” Pete nods and says something softly. The first man whoops loudly before picking Pete up and twirling him through the air.] 

**dp.wilson:** From Wolf’s lips to my ears. He said “Fuck yes” by the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all enjoy the drunken interlude of Shuri and Peggy? I made myself very hungry writing that section (a section I've been looking forward to writing for MONTHS)
> 
> And at least Bucky and Steve are talking again? Sorta... Dang, these two idiots need to stop being idiots. Will it ever happen? Will T'Challa be able to bring them together? Who's to say?
> 
> Us  
> xoxo  
> The Authors


	23. Chapter 23

“...Yeah, and then his nose started gushing blood and the crowd carried him off,” Steve finished, knocking back the rest of his tea and snapping a puzzle piece down. 

 

“See,” Sam replied, “this is why I don’t bring the girls along to game nights. They don’t need the ‘how Uncle Steve started a fight at a benefit concert’ stories until they’re at least six.”

 

Steve smiled wolfishly. “What stories are you telling them, then? You teach them not to start fights, and Uncle Steve will teach them how to finish them. And also, y’know, pay bail if necessary.”

 

“How loaded are you again? Cause if you teach them half the shit you tried to teach me in college, they’re going to need it,” Sam groused. “You want some more tea?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Sam got up, grabbing the kettle. “Sounds like an amazing time, though. If I hadn’t out of town for work I would have been there. The girls have been showing me TikToks all week. You want more of that chai?”

 

“Hmm? Nah, some of the lapsang souchong. I might do some writing later tonight. The concert  _ was _ pretty incredible. Although, hang on...”

 

Sam turned, raising an eyebrow.

 

“How do you know what a TikTok is, old man?” Steve grinned.

 

Sam threw a puzzle piece at his head. “As I have reminded you countless times before, remind you now, and undoubtedly will remind you again in the future, I am only  _ four months older than you _ .”

 

“Oh, but those four months make such a difference,” Steve cracked. 

 

Sam sat back down at the table, shoving his arm good-naturedly. He grabbed a handful of puzzle pieces and started sorting them by colour.

 

“So what did you do after the concert?” he asked. 

 

Steve swallowed.

 

“We went and got ice cream, and, uh, talked,” he said, going over to the cupboards. He pulled them open and started examining the snack situation.

 

“Really?” came Sam’s dubious sounding voice from behind him. Steve flinched slightly, popping the bag of chips, causing them to spill across the floor. He turned back around.

 

Sam was eyeing him critically. 

 

“Now normally, I’d be delighted about talking,” he said, “But I know you,  _ Steven _ .”

 

Oof. Full name. Steve winced slightly. 

 

“That’s not your ‘talked’ voice,” Sam said, fluttering his eyelashes at the word ‘talked’. 

 

Steve scowled. “I don’t --” 

 

“That’s your ‘I’m covering something up’ voice,” Sam finished.

 

Steve flinched again, but then he shook himself and straightened back up. He turned to grab a bowl for the chips that were left in the bag.

 

“‘I’m not covering up anything, Sam,” he said evenly. “We talked. It was  _ fine _ .” He filled the bowl, and brought it back to the table.

 

Setting it down, he grabbed his own handful of pieces, and began looking them over meticulously. “We talked about how the kiss…” he paused, swallowing, “...was a  _ mistake _ , and that we’d like our relationship to stay the way it is. Because we’re better off as friends.”

 

He matched a few pieces and studiously examined the ones that were already on the table. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam lean back in his chair. 

 

“ _ We _ said that?” he asked.

 

“Well. No. Bucky said that.” Steve’s hands stilled for a moment. “I--um--I didn’t really say anything. I kind of just… agreed with him.” He looked back up from the table.

 

Sam looked back at him, brow creasing. “But. You don’t _ want _ things to go back to the way they were.” 

 

“I mean…  _ yeah _ ,” Steve admitted. He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. “But you didn’t  _ hear _ him, Sam. You didn’t hear how… resolute he was. And he said it was a  _ mistake _ .”

 

Steve stared down at the mess on the table, pieces scattered every which way. 

 

“How could I be a jerk to him and tell him I wanted things to change when he so  _ clearly _ didn’t? At least this way I get to keep my best friend.” 

 

Sam was silent, mulling this over. The kettle started whistling and Steve got up to go get it, ignoring the twinge in his back.

 

He grabbed the kettle off the stove and poured the water over the mugs that Sam had assembled and then brought them back to the table. Sam took his mug with a quiet “thank you,” but Steve didn’t miss the contemplative expression on his face.

 

Steve sat back down and took a drink with a sigh. 

 

“So…” Sam said. “Have you seen him since then?”

 

“Yeah, a few times,” Steve replied. “We did a segment on  _ Good Morning America _ , and then we had brunch at The Station afterwards. And we watched a movie last night at his place.”

 

Sam’s eyes were gentle, watching him over the rim of his mug.

 

“How was that?” he asked.

 

_________________________________

 

_ The blanket he’d tucked over his lap was soft under his hands, and Steve buried his fingers in it, tangling them in the smooth fibres. _

 

_ Anything to stop himself from reaching out. _

 

_ Bucky’s couch, the one that always seemed so spacious during the day, felt like it had shrunk to half its size when the only light in the room came from the Ghibli movie on the television.  _

 

_ He was close enough to see the colours of the film wash over Bucky’s face, close enough to smell whatever tantalizing scent he’d been wearing that day. _

 

_ Close enough to bridge the distance between their bodies, but a chasm of emotions, far wider, held them apart. _

 

_ He sat, so close, and held on. _

 

____________________________________

 

Steve looked back down at the table, sliding pieces of the puzzle around.

 

“It was fine, Sam. Look, I finished the top edge.”

 

_ ______________________________________ _

 

The car made its way through the traffic of the busy Manhattan streets. Steve sat very quietly as he tried to will away the mounting anxiety that was upsetting his stomach.

 

It was  _ only _ the first time they’d be playing the single, live, for a real audience. Only a culmination of  _ months _ of work. Only several hours of taping an interview where Steve had to pretend he was in a relationship with the man he was  _ staggeringly _ in love with, who had recently, and in no uncertain terms, confirmed that he did  _ not _ feel that way and that any romantic relationship between them would be a terrible, horrible,  _ dreadful _ mistake.

 

Steve’s hands started to shake in his pockets.

 

He slammed his eyes shut.

 

That was  _ enough _ . 

 

He breathed, deep and even, through his nose. Then he stretched his arms out and rolled his wrists a few times. He took all the panic, all the fear and discomfort and noise in his head, and mentally pushed and kicked and fought until it was down so far he could barely feel it.

 

He breathed out. His face relaxed and his hands stopped shaking. 

 

Everything was fine.

 

The car rolled to a halt and Steve looked out the window to see the studio outside. He paid, got out, and headed inside. 

 

Peggy was waiting for him as he walked into the lobby. 

 

“Excellent, you’re right on time. How are you feeling?” She looked him over.

 

“Pretty good. I ate dinner before I left.”

 

“Very good,” Peggy smiled at him. “You learn sometimes.”

 

Steve cracked a smile. “It’s been known to happen.”

 

Peggy took him by the arm and started to lead him deeper into the building.

 

“You’re sure you’re doing alright, Steve?” she murmured, once they were in the elevator.

 

Steve took a breath. In, out. 

 

“‘Course, Pegs. Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied as the doors opened.

 

She shot him a look of concern, but as they walked into the studio proper, they were surrounded by people. Several of them came directly to Peggy and started asking questions. She squeezed his shoulder and hurried off. 

 

A young man with an impressive amount of piercings came up and offered to show Steve to the green room, and Steve followed him off down another corridor.

 

“I’m really excited to hear the new single,” the man said. “Everyone is pretty pumped.”

 

Steve smiled at him, but was saved from answering by their arrival at the room. The man waved and took off, already talking into his headset.

 

Steve swung  the door open. Bucky looked up from the book he was reading, a smoothie halfway to his mouth.

 

Steve blinked at him.

 

“Hey!” Bucky said, finally. He smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You can stop me from reading this terrible fantasy romance that Carol insisted I try.”

 

Steve cleared his throat, trying to remember how to think. He wished the guy with the piercings had mentioned they’d be sharing a green room--but then, why wouldn’t they? They were supposed to be a couple, weren’t they?

 

Steve squashed that line of thought. 

 

“Well, you’re in luck, then,” he managed. “You should see the meme that Morita sent me on the way here.”

 

“...Steve, we’ve definitely had the conversation about how it’s pronounced ‘meem’ and not ‘mem’,” Bucky said and he came over to where Steve was standing.

 

“Oh definitely, but it’s funny the way your eye twitches when I say it like that,” Steve replied, opening his messages. “Count yourself lucky I don’t pronounce it ‘mee mee.’” 

 

Bucky snickered, and Steve felt his insides even out slightly. 

 

_ See _ ? He thought.  _ Everything was fine. He’s laughing, we’re talking, and everything is great. _

 

Bucky brushed his hair over one shoulder and Steve was caught for a moment. 

 

Then he shook himself. None of that.

 

Everything was great.

 

Wanda and Pietro appeared eventually, carrying garment bags and containers of makeup. 

 

As they got ready, Steve told them about the time that they had tried to dress each other up. Wanda and Pietro seemed delighted by the story. A little too delighted. Steve smiled, remembering it with fondness. Bucky had a bit of a  faraway look on his face while Steve told the story, but he still smiled while Steve talked.

 

Once they were done, Wanda and Pietro went out to join the audience. Monitors on the wall flickered on, and they watched the opening monologue as T’Challa got the show started. 

 

“You know they’re gonna try and get you in heels now,” Bucky said, smiling wryly, as they watched the monitors.

 

“They can try,” Steve muttered, ignoring the flutter his heart did when Bucky smiled.

 

Eventually, the monologue drew to an end and the door cracked open as Shuri poked her head inside. 

 

“Ready to rock?” she grinned at them.

 

“And roll,” Bucky said, standing to stretch. Steve breathed deeply and followed her out of the room.

 

As they got closer to the stage, the crowd of studio employees got thicker and thicker. Finally, they managed to work their way off to one side and came face to face with the host, T’Challa. 

 

He gave his sister a hug and then turned to Steve and Bucky, greeting them warmly.

 

“Gentlemen, welcome to  _ Vibing _ ! I hope my baby sister has been doing her job,” he grinned, and then dodged as Shuri reached out to smack him.

 

“Don’t make me tell them about the time with the rooster,  _ brother _ ,” she said dangerously.

 

“Right!” T’Challa said, immediately straightening. “To business, which is exactly what Shuri is extremely good at, no questions asked, moving along.” He coughed, and Steve hid a smile.

 

“Here’s the plan, then, short and sweet,” T’Challa continued. “I’ll introduce you, you’ll play the number, we’ll play some games, have a chat, and then everybody goes home happy. Peggy and Shuri went over the details already?”

 

They nodded. 

 

“And remember, we’re not live,” he said. “So if you need a minute, want to redo something, whatever, we’ll work on it. Just be yourselves,  _ relax _ , and everything will be great.”

He gave them a double thumbs up, and then hurried off toward the stage.

 

Another assistant in a headset popped up, and directed them over toward the sound stage on the right. 

 

Steve took a second to collect himself, and then looked over at Bucky. His eyes seemed slightly glazed, and he was holding himself very rigidly.

 

Steve swallowed and reached out to touch his arm.

 

Bucky started and looked down at him.

 

“Hey,” Steve murmured. “Everything is fine, ok? Everything is going to be great.”

 

There was a shift in Bucky and something slid into place. Not ‘Wolf’ as Steve had come to know Bucky’s stage persona, but not quite Bucky either. A corner of his mouth tipped up, and the set of his shoulders relaxed. He nodded and gestured at Steve to go towards the stage.

 

As they walked on, cheers rose up from the studio audience. Steve did his best to pull out his publicity smile, and went over to the set up for the guitar.

 

He slung the strap of the guitar over his shoulder, and settled onto the stool next to the piano, starting his tune up. Beside him, he heard Bucky run through a few scales and arpeggios, and then he paused abruptly.

 

“Isn’t that…” he said quietly. Steve looked up, and saw Bucky looking speculatively at his guitar.“That’s the guitar I used,” Bucky said. “When we were working on this, that first time.”

 

Steve looked back down at the guitar, fingering the strings nervously. “Um. Yeah. I thought it would be… nice, for the first time we played it.”

 

It sounded like Bucky was about to say something, but it was drowned out by the noise of the crowd as T’Challa strode back out on the adjacent stage.

 

“Good evening, everyone!” he announced, standing confidently with his hands in his pockets. “You all know them, you’ve all heard them. They’ve been rocking the stages both big and small for some time now, but tonight is the first night we’ve heard them together. Performing their new single ‘Hurricane’ from the upcoming movie,  _ Winter Soldier: Maelstrom _ , it’s Steve Rogers and Wolf!”

 

He swung his arms wide, the lights went up, and the audience cheered.

 

Steve waited a moment for the applause to die down, and then started in with the picking of the opening notes.

 

And like magic, like it always happened --

 

The cameras disappeared, the people vanished, and it was just him and his guitar.

 

_ Where did this bring us _

_ How did we get here _

_ I’ve lost my path  _

_ But one thing is clear... _

 

He finished the first verse, and there was a beautiful breath of a pause.

 

Then the light notes of the piano joined his guitar and he started the chorus, only playing the melody, not singing the lyrics.

 

They finished the chorus, and Steve’s eyes slid automatically to his left as Bucky took on the next verse.

 

_ So much has happened _

_ So much yet to find _

_ What things are forgotten? _

_ Without you I’m blind _ ...

 

It’s only the hours of practice that kept Steve’s fingers on track. Bucky was lit up by the stage lights, glowing gently, his gaze on Steve was so soft.

 

They floated into the bridge together and then their voices finally joined as they came back to the chorus.

 

_ If I stand here in the wind, _

_ And I stand here in the rain, _

_ While the world falls around me, _

_ And all I know is pain, _

_ Through all that hurt , _

_ Even when I cannot see _

_ I’ll find my way to you  _

_ In the eye… of the hurricane  _

 

Steve could hear nothing but the blending of their voices as they sang through the rest of the song together, building in intensity as their voices effortlessly harmonized. He felt it in his entire body. The sweet, disorienting buzz of two voices blending perfectly together, like they were made for this. 

 

He gazed at Bucky and Bucky stared back, and there were no pretenses, no hiding.

 

It all culminated in the final verse, a capella, as Steve had requested so many months ago. Their voices echoed across the soundless studio, the last note ringing out across the crowd.

 

For one brief moment there was perfect, still, silence. Then it was overtaken by an explosion of delight as the audience screamed and cheered.

 

Steve found himself dumped back into his body, looking out over the crowd as they jumped to their feet, an avalanche of joy and noise crashing over him.

 

He looked back to Bucky, and found him staring at him, his eyes bright. He grinned back helplessly.

 

It had worked.

 

After several long minutes, T’Challa managed to get the crowd calmed down and brought them over to the couch adjacent to the desk on the other stage. Steve collapsed down onto it, giddy with adrenalin. Bucky sat down next to him, and it was a testament to how shaky he was that he barely noticed how close he sat.

 

Barely, anyways.

 

“Well!” T’Challa said, “wasn’t that incredible. Wasn’t that incredible, everyone?” The crowd burst into applause again. 

 

Steve didn’t even have to pull out his publicity smile. He thought his cheeks would break.

 

Finally, the audience quieted and T’Challa turned to them again. 

 

“So, this has been a long time coming! It’s been what, six months, since this was announced?” 

 

Steve blinked, trying to catch his own reaction. Had it really only been that long?

 

Thankfully, Bucky was more on the ball, as usual.

 

“Yes, it’s certainly been a whirlwind!” he replied. “But I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

 

“Neither--neither would I,” Steve got out, trying to pull himself together.

 

_ Breathe _ , he thought to himself. He shoved the giddiness down. He needed to be on his A game--Bucky couldn’t be holding up the entire conversation. 

 

“I imagine!” T’Challa was saying. “Now, I’m sure everyone is very curious--what has the process been like? Did you have to start from scratch, or were you both familiar with the movies?”

 

Steve pulled himself upright. At the very least, he knew the answer to this question.

 

“A bit of both,” he replied. “Wolf here had seen all of them, but I hadn’t actually seen any of them.” 

 

Bucky leaned forward. “Don’t worry, though, I fixed that. And  _ yes _ , of  _ course _ he loved them.”

 

T’Challa laughed, and Steve eased back a little. Ok good. Perfect. See? Nice and easy. They could definitely do this. He felt his shoulders fall slightly. 

 

Steve wasn’t sure how well he’d do if he looked at him too often.

 

“Well, that’s good then!” T’Challa continued. “Because we decided that it’s really only fair that we test that knowledge a little.”

 

Giant, neon signs appeared behind them that read “TRUE” and “FALSE”, startling Steve a little. He looked at Bucky, who raised his eyebrows but smiled anyway. Steve did his best to look intrigued.

 

“Pretty easy, gentlemen,” T’Challa said. “Answer correctly and you get a --”

 

He paused and a  _ ding _ noise rang out.

 

“Answer incorrectly,” he continued, “And you get a--” A loud buzzer blared, causing Steve’s ears to ring slightly. Dear God, he hoped they got most of them correct.

 

Thankfully, they ended up doing fairly well--Steve chalked most of that up to the fact that they’d watched them recently, and that Bucky had watched them several times. In fact, Bucky got into a slight argument at one point over an answer that they got wrong, prompting him to go on a short rant about a particular theme of the second movie. He was right of course, but the passion with which he made his point was adorable.

 

Steve hid a smile behind his hand, watching Bucky’s hands flail. He wondered who in the audience would believe him if he said this was the closest to the real Wolf they’d ever seen.

 

Finally, the game drew to a close and T’Challa announced they had won. He handed them coffee mugs branded with the show’s logo and Steve digressed for several minutes with a story about his favourite tea that Bucky had insisted he had to tell. 

 

“Now,” T’Challa said, segueing into the next segment. “It’s also true that this has been an extra special experience for you both… because you’re also a couple, are you not?”

 

Steve ruthlessly shoved down the quiver in his stomach, and  reached out and took Bucky’s hand.

 

Bucky twitched as he took it, but his smile didn’t waver an inch.

 

“That’s right,” he replied.

 

“And how did that happen?” T’Challa asked.

 

Steve sat back a little as Bucky launched into the public store Peggy, Shuri, and Tony had created, detailing how they’d gotten to know each other from the industry and that once they started working on the song together, romance had blossomed.

 

Steve’s grin turned a little wry remembering their  _ real _ first meetings. A little too much glitter and swearing for a talk show.

 

Steve dragged himself back to the present, where it seemed like T’Challa was hanging on every detail Bucky was giving him. Either that, or he was extremely good at faking attentiveness. Probably both.

 

“In that case,” T’Challa was saying, “it’s time for another game! Let’s see how well you  _ really _ know each other.”

 

T’Challa brought out two whiteboards and markers, explaining that he’d ask one person a question about the other, and they’d both write down the answer. They’d win points if they were correct. 

 

Steve reluctantly withdrew his hand from Bucky’s, trying to focus more on the game than on the loss of warmth in his fingers. 

 

T’Challa pulled out a note card with the first question, and turned to Steve.

 

Steve gulped.

 

“What,” T’Challa read, with drama, “is Wolf’s favourite movie?”

 

Steve blinked. 

 

Oh. That wasn’t so hard. He scribbled down his answer on the whiteboard. Next to him, Bucky was filling in what Steve was almost positive was the same answer. 

 

“And now,” T’Challa said, “Flip!”

 

They turned their whiteboards around and Steve couldn’t help the sigh of relief at their matching answers. He heard a few giggles ring out from the audience.

 

“Spirited Away!” T’Challa said. “A fan of the classics, huh? Nice work, Steve!”

 

A loud  _ ding _ sounded across the studio and Steve shrugged. “What can I say?”

 

He looked at Bucky and smiled.

 

“What kinda dumbass would I be if I didn’t know my best guy’s favourite movie?”

 

Bucky’s cheeks pinked and a chorus of  _ aww _ s echoed through the studio.

 

“In that case, hopefully this will be easy for the both of you!” T’Challa said, bringing out another card.

 

From there, the questions flew fast and furious.

 

What was Steve’s favourite food? Spicy salmon rolls. What was Wolf’s first job? Dressing room attendant at Winners. What was Steve’s favourite app? Spinach dip (that one really impressed T’Challa when Bucky got it right). Who owns more shoes? A tie. A lot of Steve’s are singles though.

 

Steve thought they did excellently, not faltering on a single question. He felt himself relaxing more into the couch, Bucky a comfortable presence beside him. He looked like he was having fun as well--his smile seemed closer to genuine, and he played with his braid occasionally while he thought, but it almost looked like there was something… sad, in his eyes.

 

He tried to focus back on the game.

 

“And finally,” T’Challa finished, “Who drinks whom under the table?”

 

They both scribbled down answers immediately, and flipped them without T’Challa telling them to. Laughter rang out at their answers--Steve’s underlined “me” and Bucky’s all caps “STEVE”.

 

Steve waited a moment for the noise to subside and then smirked, looking out at the people. “How else do you start a punk band?”

 

The studio roared again with laughter, and Steve chuckled as well. T’Challa slapped the table, looking delighted. 

 

“We can’t stump these two, folks!” T’Challa said to the audience. “Amazing!”

 

After everyone quieted again, T’Challa turned back to them, looking more serious. 

 

“Now,” he said, “What I’d  _ really _ love to know--what we all would--what was it like, making a song as a new couple?”

 

Steve froze slightly, trying not to let his discomfort show as he gathered himself. Of course T’Challa was going to ask about that. He knew that, Peggy had said they’d likely discuss it.

 

He just needed to focus.

 

Thankfully, as usual, Bucky seemed to be on the ball. “Well, there were some ups and downs,” he said, his face more serious. “Everyone has creative differences. But we worked it out--like any couple does.”

 

T’Challa nodded, and turned to Steve. “Is it difficult, dating in the industry?”

 

Steve took a breath, and nodded. “Yes, it can be. There’s constant… scrutiny. But… Wolf here has taught me to… enjoy the limelight... at least a little. ” He smiled, and pinched two fingers together slightly.

 

T’Challa grinned. “It’s definitely a start--I know we’re all grateful he taught you the wonders of Instagram.”

 

Steve chuckled as Bucky flipped his hair and the audience giggled.

 

“So,” T’Challa leaned forward. “Do you have any advice for the rest of us plebs out there? Any way to tell us how it’s done?”

 

Steve swallowed, feeling his palms start to sweat. He looked over at Bucky, feeling at a loss.

 

Bucky was looking at him. His eyes were shining under the studio lights, his smile so soft. His best friend.

 

Steve turned to T’Challa.

 

“I guess,” Steve said quietly, “Be honest. About your feelings. I’m, uh,” he cleared his throat, “not so good at talking sometimes, but it’s worth it. When the other person knows how much…”

 

He looked back at Bucky, who stared at him unblinkingly.

 

“How much you care about them,” he finished. 

 

Bucky reached out his hand, and Steve laced their fingers together.

 

“Yes,” Bucky said. “Tell them--tell them how important they are. No one says it enough, but saying… I love you…”

 

Steve couldn’t feel his hands.

 

“And meaning it,” Bucky continued, his voice shaking just a little, “There’s nothing. Nothing like it at all.”

 

Steve’s heart was in his throat. He lifted Bucky’s hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back of it. Bucky flushed a delicate pink.

 

There was a beat of silence and then a riot of noise broke out as the audience reacted.

 

Steve felt his insides crash as the audience brought him back to where he was. On stage, on television, in front of dozens of people and cameras.

 

Dimly, he heard T’Challa saying something about upping his game and then bidding farewell to the audience. Steve hoped desperately his smile was still on his face and he turned and nodded at the crowd while the lights and cameras dropped.

 

He refocused on T’Challa, who was saying something about the show, but it was like he was swimming underwater. Bucky said something and got up, drawing Steve to his feet as well through their still joined hands. 

 

Steve very carefully extricated his hand while Bucky continued speaking to T’Challa, and continued focusing on staying upright, even as the lights and noise around him continued to blur.

 

Finally, an assistant arrived to demand T’Challa’s attention, and Bucky started heading off the stage. Numb, Steve followed him.

 

Finally, they made it all the way into the green room. The snap of the door and the ensuing drop in noise finally broke through the fog in Steve’s brain, and he realized Bucky was talking to him.

 

“--I think that went pretty well!” he said, grabbing a bottle of water and downing half. “What did you think?”

 

He smiled at him, bright and open and happy.

 

Steve’s stomach dropped. It all flashed through his mind--Bucky up on stage, smiling and holding his hand. Singing to him. 

 

Not Bucky. Wolf.

 

He carefully turned and pulled off the spiked vest Pietro had brought him, looking around for the hoodie he’d arrived in.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Ab--absolutely.”

 

There was quiet for a moment while Steve grabbed the hoodie and pulled it over his head. He turned back around.

 

Bucky was watching him, the smile gone, a concerned frown replacing it.   
  


“Steve? Is… is everything alright?”

 

“Sure,” Steve nodded. He pulled the hem of the hoodie down. “And um, really good job. You know, with selling it.”

 

“Selling...it?” Bucky asked, his face unmoving.

 

“The relationship?” Steve asked, his voice steady even as acid crawled up his throat. “You were really convincing, Peggy and Shuri will be pleased.” 

Bucky stared at him. Steve stared back, his back ramrod straight. 

 

Bucky swallowed audibly. Then, finally-- 

 

“Oh, yes,” he said woodenly, “That’s what I am. I’m... convincing.”

 

Steve turned again, packing up his bag. Behind him, shuffling noises confirmed that Bucky was doing the same, and there was quiet.

 

Then there was a thump as Bucky tossed something down. 

 

“Steve, I--”

 

The door thumped open, and Steve turned to see Tony standing in the doorway.

 

“Excellent show, boys!” he announced, striding in and removing a headset. “We’re going to get a drink with T’Challa, he’d love for you both to join us.” He gestured out the door.

 

Bucky looked from him, back to Steve.

 

_ Enough _ .

 

“You guys go on ahead,” he said, hefting his bag. “I need some rest. The lights, you know.”

 

He turned to Bucky.

 

“I’ll see you soon, man?”

 

At least half of his mouth turned up, he was sure. That was close enough to a smile, right?

 

“Uh. Yeah,” Bucky replied. “I… sure.” His hair was falling out of its braid, but somehow he still looked perfect.

 

Like always.

 

Steve nodded to them and headed out. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and pulled his hood up, and was rewarded with no more than two people looking his way as he left the studio. He even managed to dodge around Peggy, who was helpfully still swarmed with people.

 

He jumped into the first taxi he saw and stared out the window as the car zipped away from the curb.

 

The car arrived at his building and he quietly made his way up to his apartment. He retrieved his keys from his bag, unlocked the door, walked through, and shut it. 

 

His bag hit the floor.

 

And Steve collapsed to his knees. Shaking, he covered his eyes with his hands.

 

The feeling of Bucky’s skin still warm on his lips.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tumblr post from August 17, 2019

 

User whambamthankumaam

 

[Image ID: Gifset of eight images.  _ Vibing with T’Challa _ season 7 episode 22, timestamp 1:23:01. In each image, Steve Rogers of the Howling Commandos brings Wolf’s hand to his mouth and gently kisses it.]

 

Text from user whambamthankumaam: !!!!!!

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> We're closing in on the end of this particular journey with Howling Wolf. The song is out, the contract is up, and both Steve and Bucky are DYING!
> 
> mollus would like you to know that Steve is essentially the 'This Is Fine Dog' meme in this chapter. Just trying to convince himself that everything is great while the world burns around him. I can confirm that Bucky is feeling the same way.
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter written and up soon. I know having stuff to read has been a big help with while being in isolation, so I hope this can give you a little relief from that.
> 
> Also, I know I can speak for mollus when I say that we hope you guys are all staying safe, staying home, washing your hands, and staying covid-19 free.
> 
> Y'all are beautiful, yo!
> 
> Xoxo  
> The Authors


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... guys... THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER 
> 
> Also trigger warning for depressive episode and negative self-talk

“Steve? Steve, are you in there? If you’re in there, I really need to talk to you. Please… please come to the door. .”

__________________________

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Steve Rogers, leave a message.” Beep.

“Hey… I went to your place right after the interview. I guess you weren’t there, or you weren’t answering the door. I know you probably don’t want to see me right now but I need to talk to you Steve. I really, really need to say something and I can’t do it through a door or over the phone. Please, Steve.”

__________________________

“You’ve reached the voicemail of  Steve Rogers. The mailbox is full.” Click.

__________________________

“Steve, please. I need to see you.”  _ Seen by CommandoCaptOfficial _

__________________________

“Steve. Steve, please. Let me explain.” Read 11:24 a.m.

__________________________

“I need to see you. Steve.” Seen 4:24 a.m.

__________________________

Bucky lay on his couch, floating. His mind drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. It had been two weeks. Two weeks since the song debuted. Two weeks it had been trending at number one. Two weeks since his life had completely fallen apart. Two weeks since he’d seen Steve.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d done everything he could think of. He’d gone straight to Steve’s as soon as he’d been able to wriggle out of Tony’s grasp. But Steve had refused to see him. He’d gone through Peggy, begged her to get Steve to see him. She tried, but even she could only do so much. All he’d gotten was a sad shake of her head.

He’d called. Left voicemails. Direct messages. He’d even written a letter. It was only Shuri and Wanda physically restraining him that kept him from scrawling his plea in spray paint on the building across from Steve’s.

Steve had gone dark. Peggy was the only one who had heard from him in two weeks, and that was mostly for Steve to pull out of all the scheduled public appearances. The official story was a bad stomach flu. But Bucky knew the truth. 

Steve was sick of him. Sick of the lies and sick of the heartache.

And Bucky was too.

He pushed himself off the couch and dragged his body into the bathroom. He looked at the shower, contemplating getting in. What was the point? He turned around and returned to the couch, checking his phone yet again.

Why hadn’t he seen it before? How was he so bad at reading the situation? At reading Steve? Steve was his  _ best friend _ . They  _ knew _ each other. Every part. Bucky’s past with his family. Steve’s struggle with his chronic illnesses that had nearly cost him his life when he’d been younger. Both of their fights to be recognized for their music and not just the angry sickie or flamboyant fag everyone saw them as. Every tiny little secret that they’d been too ashamed or embarrassed to share with anyone else. Every scrap of pain and joy in their lives, shared with each other over long movie nights where it didn’t really matter what they were watching; or long work sessions where they fought and fought until they finally realized that it was that one note that wasn’t working and it was the song they were mad at; or the dinners and breakfasts that followed where they talked about everything and nothing or just sat in silence, slurping mint-chip milkshakes. 

A bitter laugh choked him every time he thought about it.

He knew why he hadn’t seen it. Wanda and Shuri and Carol knew. Had always known. Had always scolded him about it. “You never let yourself be happy. Never let yourself have what you really want.”

What he wanted was food… and a distraction. He opened up an app and ordered a pizza before turning on some trashy reality competition show, trying to drown out the voices.

He heard them all, swimming through his head. Their compassion. Their love. Their frustration with him. Steve’s contempt. He deserved their frustration. Deserved Steve’s contempt. They were right and always had been.

Wasn’t that the real reason he’d invented Wolf? 

He could lie to himself. Pretend Wolf was armour. A way to protect himself. To turn all his childhood shames into something he could be proud of. And yes, that was part of it. But he could’ve done that as Bucky, if he’d been brave enough. 

Wolf kept people at a distance. Kept the real Bucky safe, but alone. And now it had driven Steve away. Because Bucky never let himself have everything and never let anyone else have all of him. He was selfish and scared and now… now he had to pay the price.

Bucky turned up the volume and wished the rest of the world away.

_______________________

The sun streamed through the window bright and sunny and unbearably hot, but Bucky still felt cold. The air hung heavy with humidity and the sheets clung to him, his ratty tshirt plastered with old sweat. It had been a few days, maybe, since Bucky had showered. Time had ceased to mean much to him. He wasn’t really sure what time of the day it was. He wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was.

With all the interviews and appointments cancelled Bucky had been free to withdraw. He spent his days wandering aimlessly through the rooms of his apartment and trying to contact Steve. 

If he could just  _ talk  _ to him—tell him the truth, in no uncertain terms this time. He’d thought he was being clear before, but it was obvious he hadn’t been. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said, but he was sure the word ‘mistake’ had come up. Had he said what he wanted? Had he said love or even  _ like _ ?

Bucky sat up and threw his bedding off of him in frustration. He stalked to the kitchen, ignoring the pile of dishes on the counter, and grabbed a jar of pickles and a jar of peanut butter. The oven clock said it was 11:42 a.m. Breakfast, then. He wandered to the living room and threw himself into the Bucky shaped crater that had formed there over the past two weeks.

He sat munching his pickles and peanut butter, staring blankly at his phone. Nothing. He d reloaded his apps. Still nothing. In desperation Bucky switched between data and wireless on the off-chance that he’d just been without internet for two weeks.

This had been his routine for days. When his hunger got the best of him he’d trudge to the kitchen and throw together something he could call… maybe not a meal, but food, at least, before returning to his crater.

His phone lit up the dark room as it started ringing. Instantly Bucky’s heart was in his throat and he was holding his breath as he fumbled with clumsy thumbs to answer the phone.

“Hello?” His voice sounded hoarse and desperate to his own ears, but he didn’t care if he could speak to Steve.

“Bucky?” Shuri’s voice came through loud and clear from the other end of the line.

Bucky’s heart fell back to its usual place in his chest,, and the little spark of hope that he’d had, that last flickering ember, snuffed itself out. 

“Uh, yeah,” he managed, struggling to sound something like his usual self. It sounded like a bad impersonation.

“Bucky, I’m not going to ask if you’re okay. I know you’re not. I’ve tried to give you your space, let you cancel on everything Steve didn’t already, but enough is enough.” Her voice, while gentle, was also firm.

Bucky felt Steve’s name like a blow. He tried to respond, but only air came out.

“You’ve got to pull yourself together. It’s hard, I know it’s hard. But you’ve got to be strong one more time. Tonight is the premier and you  _ have  _ to be there. So does Steve. It’s non-negotiable.”

Still Bucky tried to speak. Tried to rail against this. How could she expect him to go, walk a red carpet, smile, laugh, answer questions… see  _ him _ ? Pretend to be with  _ him _ ? He couldn’t. Yet again, nothing came out.

He could hear the strain in Shuri’s voice. She didn’t want to be saying this. The part that was his friend anyway. The other part, the part that looked out for Wolf, that was the part that was speaking. Bucky hated that he knew that he had to listen to that part. 

“Listen, Bucky.” Her voice softened. “After tonight… After tonight, you can fall apart again. For as long as you need to. I’ll tell Tony whatever I have to, to let you have the time you need to heal. But you have to promise me that you will  _ try  _ to heal. Tonight though, I need you to hold it together, one last time. Can you do that?”

“I… I will… I’ll try,” Bucky finally managed.

“Good. We’ll be there soon to get you ready. And we’ll be there after too.”

“We?”

_______________________

Bucky was still in his couch crater when his door slammed open an hour later. He started and sat up, heart thudding. Shuri, Wanda, Pietro, and Carol all marched into the room, their mouths set in determined frowns, worry clear in their eyes.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Carol said, squinting around the dark room at the mess.

Wanda and Pietro headed straight for the windows. “We can get on him about his housekeeping skills in a moment,” Wanda said. “First, let’s get some light on the situation.”

With that she and Pietro threw open the heavy curtains. “Jesus was right,” Pietro breathed out. “What have you been doing? And what’s that smell?” He opened the windows to get a breeze flowing through the room.

“Ten bucks says that that smell is some combination of old food and Bucky himself,” Carol murmured. “Yup,” she confirmed, leaning over and giving Bucky a sniff.

The room was a complete disaster. Discarded clothes lay scattered haphazardly across the floor, plates and old take-out containers covered most flat surfaces, but worst of all was Bucky. His hair was limp and greasy, his skin was sunken and sallow, and his eyes were bloodshot with deep bruise-like circles beneath them. He sat blinking, still trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Shuri plopped down into the chair across from Bucky and assessed the entire situation silently, her eyes roving up and down. Wanda and Pietro still stood by the window, looking uncertain and more than a little freaked out. Carol still stood by the door. The frown hadn’t budged from her face.

Finally, Shuri spoke. “Okay, folks. We’ve got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. At least for tonight. Carol, you and I are on cleanup duty. Wanda, Pietro—you two are on Bucky duty. Get him looking… well, I’ll settle for presentable.”

Bucky tried to follow all of this but he was still disoriented, and a little out of his head. He finally snapped back to the moment when Wanda and Pietro hauled him to his feet and started steering him towards the bathroom.

“Guys? What are you all doing here?”

Wanda just blinked at him slowly. “What’s it look like?”

“We’re getting you ready for the movie premiere,” Pietro added helpfully. 

From down the hall he could hear Carol and Shuri digging through his hall closet. Trash bags rustled and then the vacuum roared to life. “What is Carol doing here? And what are they doing out there?”

“Cleaning, obviously.” Pietro shook his head like he wondered who tied Bucky’s shoes for him.

Wanda put her hand on Bucky’s arm and turned him to face her. “Bucky, you have to have known. We’re worried about you. I know you thought that night we came over for a sleepover—you thought that was all you’d need and you’d be fine…”

_ That’s not true _ , Bucky thought.

“But…” Wanda paused, looking for the words.

“We saw this coming,” Carol said, standing at the bathroom door with her arms full of Bucky’s bedding. “Don’t get me wrong,” she continued, holding up a hand to stop Bucky’s protest before he could get it out. “We hoped it wouldn’t come to this. But...” She shrugged. “We planned for it.”

“And if you think we’re leaving you alone again after tonight?” Shuri added, coming up behind Carol. “You’re crazy.”

That broke Bucky. His legs went weak. He would’ve hit the hard tiles if he hadn’t been caught up in the arms of all of his friends. The tears he’d kept himself from shedding for the past two weeks came on full force.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Wanda whispered, rubbing his back.

Carol squeezed him a bit tighter. “You’ll get over him, someday.”

Bucky shuddered and tried to catch his breath. He needed to tell them. Tell them what he knew and why this was going to be harder than they realized. “I—I—I don’t know if I will. If I  _ can _ .”

“Sure you can,” Pietro added.

 “No you don’t understand.” Bucky sniffed again. “You’re right, I would’ve been able to get over him eventually… if…” He hiccoughed.

“If?” Wanda pushed.

“If he didn’t love me,” Bucky whispered.

The group hug released. “What?” Shuri said it, but the confusion was clear on everyone’s face. Bucky lowered himself onto the edge of the tub and looked around at all of them

“He—he loves me.” His voice broke on the word love. “I—I didn’t realize it until—until  _ Vibing _ . I thought I’d told him, thought he’d rejected me, but that’s not what happened.”

Wanda sat down next to him. “What did happen?”

“Yeah. Isn’t him loving you a good thing?” Pietro asked, scratching his head. Carol looked equally as confused. Shuri looked mildly annoyed.

“It would be,” Bucky said, not meeting any of their eyes. Wanda started rubbing small circles on his back. “But… at the talk show. What he said. How he reacted. It was so obvious.” His voice started to shake. “And then… He thought I was acting. That everything I said was just—just Wolf. It hurt him. I could see it; hear it.”

“Can’t you just tell him that he’s wrong? That you weren’t pretending?” Pietro asked.

“He—he won’t see me. I’ve tried.” Another tear slid down his cheek.

“Have you tried breaking down his door and making him?” Carol suggested.

That startled a weak laugh out of Bucky. “I don’t think property damage will make him any more likely to listen to me.” He smiled. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t think about it.”

She shrugged. “Worth a shot.” 

Bucky suddenly felt very silly, sitting in his bathroom, crying, his friends all around him. He sat up, straightening out his shoulders, trying to regain some dignity, and looked around. “Okay, okay. Me moping and snivelling isn’t getting me ready for this premiere.”

“You’re right,” Shuri said, looking around at everyone. “We’ve all got jobs to do. Let’s get to it.” She clapped her hands and everyone scattered. Carol and Shuri returned to the living room and the vacuum roared back to life. Wanda and Pietro ducked back into the bedroom, to begin setting up their glam stations.

Bucky was just about to step into the shower when Wanda slipped back into the bathroom. “Bucky,” she said, gazing at the floor. “I think you should still tell him. However you can. If not for him, then for you. To know you’ve done everything you could.”

“Thanks, Wanda. I’ll—” he took a deep breath. “I’ll consider it.”

With that she slipped back out the door.

_______________________

A spike of pain lanced through Bucky’s head as another flashbulb went off. His friends had done their best, but he still felt miserable. 

He was wearing the navy, military-inspired double-breasted suit that they’d originally come up with, tailored to show off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The leather of the suit was hot in the late-summer evening and he was grateful for the fact that it was missing one sleeve. The suit was fastened with onyx buttons in the shape of stars trimmed with black piping that emphasized the lines of his body. Despite their best work though, he was still exhausted, sticky, and ached all over. At least, thanks to Wanda and Pietro’s last minute addition, no one could tell how miserable he was.

When Wanda had pulled out the mask he had nearly collapsed with relief. It was black and fit snugly over the lower half of his face. It fit perfectly, hooked over his ears, and breathed beautifully allowing air flow and retaining little heat.

They’d all agreed that a dark and brooding look was appropriate, and the best way to disguise the damage these two weeks had done was to commit to a deep smoky eye and severe contour. His hair had been pulled back in elaborate braids on the sides and the top was teased into a sleek fauxhawk. He looked dangerous.

It worked out in his favour. Few reporters made the effort to talk to him. It made sense, after all. The night was hardly about him or Steve. Most of the attention was focused on the stars of the film, and the few reporters that did approach Bucky did so with unconscious trepidation. 

_ Steve would be proud,  _ Bucky thought. He would’ve laughed if that thought hadn’t been like a punch to the gut.

He had barely seen Steve all evening. They’d arrived separately, Bucky’s car pulling up shortly after Steve’s. He’d managed to catch a glimpse of him as he’d made his way down the carpet, wearing the bright red suit covered in blue stars Pietro had whipped up for him. He seemed ill at ease on the carpet, but that was typical for Steve.

Bucky kept trying to get closer, Wanda’s words weighing heavy in his heart. Every time he tried, it seemed like Steve moved deliberately further away. He couldn’t tell if it was Steve, or some part of Bucky was protecting himself, keeping him from getting too close to Steve.

He didn’t even know what he’d say if he could get close enough to say anything. “I love you?” What would Steve do with that? And would he even believe him anymore?

Eventually Shuri and Peggy wrangled the two of them together, just long enough for a reporter to snap a photo. It was awful. Steve barely looked at him, wouldn’t meet his eyes. And the distance between them? Mere inches that may as well have been miles. Almost immediately afterward Steve made some excuse about the bathroom and was gone again.

“You’re almost done,” Shuri whispered in his ear as she steered him towards the theatre. “Just a few speeches from the actors and then the movie and it’s all over.”

They made their way into the dark theatre and found their seats. There was a little placard with his name on it and a bag of swag. Bucky had to restrain himself from throwing the custom ‘pet hurricane’ at the theatre wall. It felt like it was mocking him. 

The seat next to him, the one reserved for Steve, remained empty. Bucky sat, waiting, hoping Steve would show up with enough time that he could say something to him. Steve slipped into the theatre and dropped into his seat just as the lights went fully out and a brilliant spotlight illuminated the stage in front of the screen.

Chris Hemsworth, Ryan Reynolds, Zoe Saldana, and the director all walked out into the light. They spoke for a few minutes each. Bucky wasn’t sure what they were saying. To be honest he didn’t really care. All he could focus on was Steve sitting right beside him, staring resolutely at the speakers. The twitching in his jaw told Bucky he wasn’t listening either.

Soon they wrapped up the opening remarks and complete darkness fell in the theatre. Applause rang out as the opening credits swept across the screen, and the audience quieted as the movie began in earnest. It didn’t seem anything like the rough cut they’d seen, but Bucky was too distracted by Steve to know if that were true. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. There were bright lights, flashes, loud sounds. Every so often the crowd would laugh or gasp. Someone even shouted “No!” at one point. 

Then he heard it. 

The theatre was dead silent as the first few notes of ‘Hurricane’ came drifting from the speakers. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped into crystal clear focus as the Soldier and the Lieutenant filled the screen. The Soldier was cradling the Lieutenant in his arms, pouring out his heart, telling his friend how much he meant to him; how he would cross galaxies to get to him; defy galactic governments and tear planets apart just to find him.

Beside Bucky, Steve stood up. He looked down, away from the screen, and quietly made his way out of the theatre. Steve set a slow but agitated pace, his shoulders were up around his ears, his hands clenched in fists.

It wasn’t a decision for Bucky. Before he knew what he was doing, he was bursting through the doors of the theatre, tearing off his mask, head swivelling frantically from side to side, scanning for Steve. He caught a blur of movement, a door to a different theatre swinging shut.

Steve was halfway across the theatre and to the fire exit when Bucky shouted his name.

He paused for a split second and then redoubled his efforts.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted again, breaking into an all-out run to catch up. He circled around in front of him. “ _ Steve _ .”

Steve didn’t look up. There was a muscle working in his jaw, and his hair was starting to fall from his mohawk.

“Steve, I need—”

“No.” The word was like a slap. “You don’t.”

Bucky almost stopped there. Almost turned around and left, but he needed to say this. “Steve, please—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Bucky.”

“You don’t—”

“Don’t know what you’re going to say? Does it matter?” He pushed past Bucky and continued walking.

“If you’d just listen!”

“I don’t care.”

Bucky let out a growl of frustration. “Just talk to me. I’ve been trying for two weeks—”

“To what, Bucky? Just hang out? Grab some dinner or watch a movie?” Steve threw up his hands. “Don’t you get it? I can’t. I  _ won’t _ .” His voice broke, and Bucky suddenly saw what was really there, what had always been there--hurt. “It’s—it’s just too painful. So no, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Contract’s up. We can just go our separate ways. Invoke the breakup clause. I don’t care. I just… I can’t see you again, Bucky. I  _ can’t _ !” Steve swallowed visibly, and turned.

“If you’d just—”

“Goodbye, Bucky.” He pushed the door open with a creak “I really—I wish this could’ve been different.”

“Oh you absolute—" Bucky lost it. A white hot sheet of rage blinded his vision. He had suffered too much in this life, fought for too much, just to let the best thing to ever happen to him walk out of his life with a sad goodbye. Life would not take Steve from him. His own stupidity would be damned too.

He lunged forward, grabbeing Steve’s hand and yanking him around to face him. The door slammed shut behind them. Steve’s face was stunned as he  stumbled forward toward Bucky. Bucky grabbed his arms, pulling him even closer, Steve’s eyes widening even further.

“I have. Been trying.” Bucky grit out, staring him down. “For SIX MONTHS—if I’m being honest. To tell you that I am  _ in love with  _ you. And if you think I’m about to let some  _ punk _ keep me from doing that… ”

Before he knew what he was doing he was pushing Steve back into the wall of the theatre, his lips desperately seeking Steve’s. Steve’s lips were warm, he registered, and soft. He smelled and tasted almost exactly like he did all those weeks ago, something so uniquely and addictively Steve that Bucky lost himself. It was intense; months of feelings condensed into a single, ecstatic moment. 

He felt Steve go rigid beneath him. He pulled away, gasping and staring down at the floor. He could feel Steve’s chest rising and falling rapidly against his.

Fuck. He’d screwed up again, he knew it. But at least he’d tried. He’d misread the situation. He went to move away, heart already retreating to that frozen, silent place.

He made it less than an inch before Steve’s hand was on his chest, fisting his shirt in a white-knuckle grip and dragging him back in. He yanked their mouths together and angled his head and Bucky was gone, lost in the sweetness of Steve’s kiss. Steve groaned, and before Bucky knew what was happening, Steve’s legs were wrapped around his waist and Bucky was pushing him up against the wall of the theatre. He ripped the collar of Steve’s shirt away from his neck, releasing his mouth to bite at the corner of his jaw, leaving it red. Steve gasped, frantically yanking the bottom of Bucky’s shirt open and sliding his hands up his ribs, electrifying Bucky’s skin. Bucky surged back up to claim Steve’s mouth again, searing them together with a moan. Only when Bucky felt like he was about to pass out did he pull away. Slightly. 

Steve’s eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide, when Bucky looked down at him. He was sure his own looked the same. Just as he was sure that he was now sporting a matching giddy smile.

Both of their heads snapped to the side with the slow roll of a single person applauding. Standing in the main entrance to the theatre they’d come into were two ushers pushing a cleaning cart. Both had short curly hair cut in fades, and although the girl had far more piercings, they looked eerily similar. The boy paused his clapping to let out a whoop followed by a wolf-whistle. The girl’s face was bright red and she was pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly embarrassed at what they’d stumbled upon and annoyed by her co-worker.

“ _ Get _ it girl!” the boy called, throwing in another whistle and continuing his one-man standing ovation.

“Don’t  _ encourage  _ them.” The girl grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out of the theatre.

Bucky and Steve’s gaze returned to each other. Bucky took in Steve, still pushed against the wall, his suit now a crumpled mess, his legs still wrapped very firmly around Bucky’s waist. They both burst out laughing at the same time. The laughter tore through them and they collapsed in a heap on the sticky floor of the theatre as they rode out the euphoria of the moment.  

When the laughter and the tears finally subsided Steve turned to look at Bucky, nothing but love shining out of his eyes. “You know we’re both idiots. And that this is going to be splashed all over the tabloids tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, “but we’re each other’s idiots. And definitely worth it.”

“ _ Yeah _ it was,” Steve said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bucky rolled his eyes and stood up. He offered his hand to Steve and pulled him to his feet. “You wanna get out of here?”

______________________________

Excerpt from  _ NY Times  _ review

“Winter Soldier: Maelstrom blows away the competition”

… and in a major win for representation the studio finally confirmed long-held fan theory and popular ship amongst fans, WinterNomad. Yes, in its climactic scene, and the emotional core of the film that left not a dry eye in the theatre, the Winter Soldier finally confessed his undying love for the Lieutenant, Evan Nomad. If you haven’t seen it yet, you need to. Truly one of the most exceptional films of the decade and this reviewer won’t be surprised to see it walk away with numerous nominations and trophies this awards season.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that happened.
> 
> And boy was it a doozy. And like pulling teeth to write, but I DID IT. Thanks quarantine. GUYS STAY INSIDE! WASH YOUR HANDS! BE KIND TO YOURSELVES! WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!
> 
> I'd also like to say that if you are experiencing depression, a depressive episode, or severe anxiety that your feelings are valid and NOT silly or overblown.
> 
> Crisis Services Canada can be reached @ 1.833.456.4566. 24/7 if any of our Canadian readers are in crisis or contemplating suicide. You can also text them @ 45645 from 4pm - 12am ET.
> 
> Other Canadian resources are the Kids Help Phone @ 1.800.668.6868
> 
> If anyone knows any other resources (internationally) please feel free to leave them in the comments.
> 
> You are not alone. We love you and are here for you. And we write this for you. I can't count the number of times mollus and I have giddily texted each other because someone left a comment or a kudos and we knew that what we were doing made someone happy. We love each and every one of you. Stay beautiful. And remember, in the words of Wolf, "You'll find your pack! AWOOOO"
> 
> ONE MORE CHAPTER!
> 
> XOXO  
> The Authors.


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